The Way From Here
by ZombieJazz
Summary: Erin must deal with the consequences of her decision to take a position in FBI Counter-Terrorism at the expense of her relationship with Jay and her relationship with her family. But an emergency with her younger brother provides her the opportunity to re-examine her choices and to try to rectify any damages. A story set in the Interesting Dynamics AU.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: The Way From Here**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Erin must deal with the consequences of her decision to take a position in FBI counter-intelligence at the expense of her relationship with Jay and her relationship with her family. But an emergency with her younger brother provides her with the opportunity to re-examine her choices and to try to rectify any damages to her relationships. This story takes place in the AU established in Interesting Dynamics.**

 **SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers in this collection from Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas, Scenes, Aftermath and So It Goes (including chapters/scenes in So It Goes that have not yet been written or posted). This series also contains SPOILERS related to the finale of Season 4 of Chicago PD.**

"So we aren't talking," Erin said flatly and Jay pulled his eyes away from the road – from managing fucking end of rush hour traffic around O'Hare to try to get them back into town. To where she wanted to go or be. Apparently. Now. In that moment. Not six weeks ago – when she also really wasn't interested in the talking that she apparently wanted to do now.

Thing was he just didn't really feel like talking. Not now. Because he didn't know what to say to her anymore. Not now. And for all the things he did want to say, it felt like they'd just fall on deaf ears. She didn't actually want to hear it. Not then. And he had trouble believing she'd want to hear it now. That she was in a place where she was ready and able to hear it. And he just didn't want to waste his breath. Because he didn't have the time or energy for that right now either. Not now.

"I just don't want to fight," he put flatly and went back to watching the traffic. Working at navigating it.

Because that was something he knew how to navigate. Something he could deal with in the now. Something that was in his control. What she did or didn't do. She'd made very clear wasn't within his control. And that even his opinion on the matter didn't count for very much.

She'd broken his heart. In more ways than one. And he was still working at picking up the pieces and trying to navigate that. Trying to figure out what the fuck it meant for him and for them. But if the first six weeks were any indication, it meant they were in a slow descent toward break-up.

A break-up that likely should've happened the moment she'd packed her bags and left despite his protests. His trying to talk sense to her in more ways than he could count. Ones that even went beyond their relationship. Ones that went beyond the job and CPD and Intelligence. Ones that went beyond Ethan and family and what they were trying to do – to make. Things he thought they were in together. For the long haul.

But apparently they were coming from different angels on that. Apparently he'd thought wrong. Because even if he'd been able to accept her false arguments that they both knew were complete bullshit - that it'd only be a few months, that it'd let the dust settle in Chicago and then she'd be able to come back to CPD and they'd get back to their never-ending engagement. Because now it seemed like there was probably an end in sight. Just not the kind of end that Jay had expected or wanted.

And when it hadn't ended then. When he hadn't accepted the writing on the wall – it should've ended when she'd called him barely a week after landing in New York. When he hadn't been able to pick up the phone so she'd left a message. A fucking message to tell him that they were putting her under and she wasn't sure how long it'd be or when she'd be able to be in touch. And he hadn't heard from her since.

And even though he could hear the sadness in her voice in that message. Even though he still had it saved in his inbox. Even though he still listened to it when he felt like he was spinning out from the case or just what all this was fucking doing to him. He still couldn't help but just feel … fucking pissed at her. At this. At all of this. At Bunny. At Voight. At Erin. About the choices she made and the priorities she'd picked. And how she'd pushed him out again. And how he was still here dealing with the pieces. And he hadn't been able to talk to her about any of it. Even if it was going to fall on deaf ears. Even if it was going to be a useless fucking conversation – as useless as the one they'd had as she threw her shit in a bag and took off to this supposedly temporary gig in an effort to save Bunny from long-term jail time and to try to somehow salvage her job at CPD. But he hadn't heard from her to have any kind of conversation about any of it. Not again. Not even now.

He hadn't even heard from her that he should pick her up at O'Hare. It'd been her fucking handler who'd called. Who'd told him the time she'd meet him in front of the airport. He didn't even fucking know where she was coming in from. What flight she'd been on. Hadn't even gotten to go into the airport and wait in arrivals to try to get some idea by watching the boarding and gauging when she walked out of baggage. Not that she had baggage with her. Or a phone. And not that looking online to try to figure out what flight it might've been – where she was coming from – helped. Not in one of the busiest airports in the United States. Fuck that – one of the busiest airports in the world.

And, fuck if he had time for that. To try to figure it out. Any of it out. Trying to figure any of this shit out was just fucking with his head. She'd broken his heart and she'd completely fucked with his head. He was fucking sliding. Trying to hold on and not turn into the guy he was. Once. And it was hard. He'd lost his stabilizing wall. He'd lost the thing – the person – who wasn't supposed to come and go. But she'd gone. And it pretty much felt like she was really going to be gone. And for as much as he knew he should fight for her – for this, for them – he also just didn't want to fight. Not when she'd just arrived in Chicago from who-knows-fucking-where without a bag and without a phone.

"I didn't know we were fighting," she muttered, and slumped against the door and stared out the window on the passenger side she hated.

Because she always wanted to be the one in control. The one driving. But she'd driven them right into a fucking wall. Or off a fucking cliff. Or at least she'd let Bunny drive her off a cliff and now she was trying to pull him along with her. And she was succeeding. Because he – his heart, his mind – had become too fucking dependent on her. And he didn't know how to be here. How to be a cop. How to working in Intelligence. How to be around Voight. How to still be in Ethan's life. How to do just fucking any of it without her. She'd sent the whole family he'd established – that he thought he'd earned, and the one he was trying to make with her – off a fucking cliff.

So it was a fucking stupid statement. "Didn't know we were fighting." Ridiculous. Of course they were fighting. You don't make that kind of life changing – relationship changing – decision without actually talking to your fiancée. Not just talking – fucking hearing them. Considering their point of view. Putting them before your fucking crack-whore of a non-mother. Putting what you had – the family you had and the family you were making – ahead of the fucking job. Of the CPD. Jobs come and go. They – their relationship – it wasn't supposed to. But it had. She did. They were. It felt like. What they had. Her in his life – the way it had been – it'd gone. And that hurt. Because that wasn't what was supposed to have happened.

But you don't just disappear for five weeks and expect to land in town and for everything to be OK. It wasn't OK. Not fucking any of it. Not them. Not what was going on with Eth. Not what she'd done to him. Not what she'd done to her family. Not the fucking fall out that was still coming down.

And no conversation they were going to have was going to be alright either. It wasn't going to let either of them go back to the jobs they needed to do with their heads on straight. His head was fucking twisted backward enough as it was. He didn't need her to send it spinning further. He didn't want to be more upset with her than he already was. He didn't want to hurt more than he already did.

"I don't want to fight," he responded again – even more flatly.

"We can talk without fighting," she said, giving him a glance.

There was a look to it. A sincerity. One that he knew. One that said she needed him. Or something from him. For him to be there for her. That she'd been through shit. That she was hurting too. And that made him ache. Because he wasn't sure how to do that. To be there. Not now. Not in a way that wasn't just going to fuck them up more.

"Doesn't look like you're going to be here long," he said. "I think we should try to keep it professional."

She eyed him. "Are you asking how long I'm here?" she put back to him with some tone.

He shook his head. "No," he said. "No bag. Figure I'll be driving you back to O'Hare in the morning."

"Pretty sure I've got clothes at the house, Jay," she near spat at him. "Unless there's something else you want to say to me."

He gave her another glance – his eyes going firmer. "I don't want to fight."

She let out an aggravated noise and glared. But she could be pissed. That was fine. He was fucking pissed too.

"And I think we can talk without fighting," she pressed again.

He shrugged and kept a grip on the wheel – tighter than he needed to. "OK. Do you need to stop by the house first?"

There. Conversation. And she should probably say yes. Because she looked like shit. She looked tired. She looked like she lost weight. She didn't look like she was eating right. And she wasn't wearing clothes that looked like her own. It looked like she'd meet with her handler. Gotten the message. Finally. And gone to the airport and gotten on a fucking plane.

And maybe she just realized that because she glanced down at her attire. The one that betrayed that whatever group she was infiltrating wasn't likely New York based. Or at least not the city. But a counter terrorism undercover gig for a white woman? It wasn't exactly the jihadis that they'd have her trying to infiltrate. Not likely. But Jay could think of a variety of other domestic terror groups these days that might happily accept a white girl into the fold. And the hair color likely only affirmed that, which she reached and tucked behind her ear.

"I think I should be OK …?"she said but almost asked.

He gave her another small glance and another once-over – more than he had when she'd gotten in the Sierra. "You should clean-up," he put flatly, purposely not including 'I think' in the statement, because she'd already proven she didn't really give a fuck about what he thought. "Change into something that looks more … like you."

She stared at him. But didn't say anything. She went back to gazing out the window. Let him drive. Didn't make them fight. About something as fucking stupid as clothes. Not when they had bigger and more important things to fight about. That they wouldn't likely get a chance to fight about this trip. And who knows what they would. And if it'd even be worth it by the time that moment presented itself. Because he didn't know what would be left of them – what they had – when that moment did appear. If ever.

"Will he still be awake later?" she finally asked as they started manoeuvring to get closer to an exit lane. Though at the speed they were going in the congestion, it wasn't like they were going to miss it. Unless someone wouldn't let him in. And if they were going to be assholes, he'd be an asshole and flash the lights. Get someone to open up a fucking space for him.

But he just shrugged again to her question. "Hard to tell."

She allowed a little nod. "Does he know I'm here?"

And that just earned another shrug. "You have your handler call Voight?"

She gave him another glance. Another glare. But then stared out the window again.

"Is he as pissed off as you?" she put flatly. But there was an edge to it.

Jay let out a low exhale and allowed her another small glance. There was a brokenness to her. One he'd seen before. But one he didn't really want to be a factor in. But he had a right to be upset. Ethan had a right to be upset. Voight did too. Though, Jay and Eth had their own pissed off aspect at him too. But at this point … Jay just didn't know. He didn't even know who to be mad at. He didn't want it to be Erin. But it was. It really was. And he was really fucking struggling to reel that in. Because he loved her. Even now. In all of this.

"He's still angry. And he's still confused. And he misses you," Jay provided. "Just like me. Just like Voight. Just like Olive and Henry and everyone upstairs."

She made her own small sound. Not a sigh. More of a sob that hadn't quite been allowed to exist. To be stifled even before there was something to be stifled. This pained catch of air. And again it was a reaction that Jay didn't know what to say to. How to react.

"How is he?" she asked quietly.

And Jay sighed. Because he didn't know how to answer that question. Even though he knew she wasn't asking about how he was dealing with her being gone. Even though he probably could've given her a fucking monologue about what that was doing to the kid. About maybe what that had done to that kid. How it'd contributed to where Eth was at right now. But that would just hurt her. And she was already hurting. And it'd just be a told-you-so. And what was the point of that either? Now.

What she wanted to know was physically. How was Eth doing physically. And the reality was that Jay had had to nearly sell this as her baby brother being on his fucking death bed to get the FBI to fucking react. That's how he fucking pulled out all stops in reaching out to his contacts. In finding someone in the fucking FBI who could put him in touch with the counter-terrorism office in New York – and someone there who had enough clout that they'd actually listen to him and do something to get him in touch with Erin. That's how he fucking had to fight even harder to get them to get him in touch with her fucking handler. To fight even more with that jag-off to get in touch with her and to let her fucking know what was going on with Eth. And it'd taken days. Fucking days. Almost a week.

It'd taken so long he really didn't think she'd get the message. Or that he'd hear anything more from the fucking jag-off until he'd gotten that unlisted number with no ID and just a flat voice telling him when to be at the airport.

He didn't know what her handler had and hadn't told her. He did suspect that they'd at least looked into it and decided that it was bad enough to let her come home. Even if it was only an overnight. Or however fucking long they were letting her be there. And that likely had her worried enough. Maybe a level of worry she should've thought of before. Because this was on the nightmare list that she'd dismissed as a possibility in her denial. In her efforts to convince herself that it'd only be a few months. And that everything would be fine and dandy and exactly the same whenever she got back to Chicago.

But it wasn't. And she should've known better. She should've seen in coming down the pipes. Because the signs were there in May. The signs were there when she made her fucking split-second decision to not spend time looking at what she had and to instead run-blindly into the unknown. To runaway from them. And run away from letting the consequences play out from her actions. From letting people help her. Him and Voight and her FoP rep. To fight for her job and her position. To live with the consequences if it couldn't be saved. To stick with the family who loved her – and looked out for her – rather than the one person who'd done nothing but hurt her time and time again. But instead she'd run. She'd looked out for Bunny. Who didn't deserve it. Not now. Not then. Not ever.

"He's talking about his grad and his Bridge orientation session and the RIC tournament with CPD on the weekend," Jay provided. "And the Fourth of July."

"Of course …" Erin allowed.

The kid was fucking breaking his heart too. Breaking it into about a million more pieces than the ones Erin had already left behind. And Jay still hadn't figured out to deal with that yet either. How to be a part of the family he thought he'd become a part of now. How to still be there for Eth now. What and who he was to Eth and to Voight now. Because like any of that shit wasn't confusing enough already. And now it was just … a fucking gong show.

"Is he going to be able to do any of that?" Erin asked. And the emotion was evident again. The breaking point she was sitting at. That she was coming crashing down from the denial and the separation and the reality of what had been done and where things were at now. If she hadn't been crashing before.

"I don't know," Jay admitted but sighed again and shrugged, shaking his head. "Natalie is going to try to get them to time things so that Voight can at least take him out for his grad."

That earned a glance. A stare. "He still wants to go to that?"

"He says they don't get to win," Jay put flatly. And felt his heart ache a bit more. Saw that ache reflected in Erin's eyes – as they glassed and she looked away. As she stared out that window.

"So … if Natalie thinks he can go out … he's … doing better?" she tried.

He glanced at her. "Maybe you should let Hank and the doctors give you a rundown when you get to the hospital," he said.

"Jay," she warned – but there was an audible weakness to that demand too. It wasn't as demanding, forceful or as warning as she once had been. "I'm asking you."

He stared at the road. He watched the brake lights in the gridlock. "He's not bad," he allowed. "They're supposed to start the plasma exchange tomorrow. Then I guess it's the immunoglobulin therapy. After."

"So he's going to be in the hospital for a while?"

"I think the treatments are about four days each," he said. "If everything goes alright."

Her hand threaded through her hair and she gazed out the glass. The pain and hurt and concern and worry radiated off her even more.

"How long has he been in there?" she asked quietly.

"A week," he said and her eyes snapped to him. He turned to meet them. "It was hard to find someone who could get you a message."

Her eyes glassed more and she set her temple against the passenger-side glass, trying to divert them as she looked at the traffic. The snail's pace to get back to the city's core. To their home. Or what had been their home. Now it was pretty much empty. It felt that way too. She wasn't there. And Jay didn't feel like he had much reason to be there. He didn't really want to be there. In an empty house. A reminder of the plans they'd made. The life they were trying to establish. And now he didn't know where any of that was. Or where it would ever be. How long they'd keep the place. Or how long it'd be before she was moving back into her condo. That maybe it was good that it'd never gone on the market. Maybe it was good that Will still hadn't found a place to live yet. But why would he? The townhouse had become his own personal and very spacious crash pad at a bargain basement rental price of … nothing.

But Jay couldn't be angry at that. He actually was almost grateful that Will was there. Because at least it meant the house didn't feel so empty. At least there was some kind of distraction when he was there. Someone to almost keep him in reality even if he pissed him off in ways all of his own. But at least dealing with Will and him trying to sort his life out was a better option than finding a bottle to crawl into or diving into Xbox games he shouldn't be playing. Not that he and Will hadn't done some of Column A and Column B together anyway. But at least they had a partner in crime to act as their excuse and to sort of keep some sort of tether in the real world.

The real world was real enough anyway. The best distraction of all. Work. There was that to get buried in. But at the same time … the job just didn't feel the same. Not now.

"Listen, I'll wait for you to clean-up at the house but after I drop you off at Med, I need to head back into District," he said.

He got some side-eye at that. He could feel it. "Why?" she asked.

"Confidential matter," he said flatly.

Even though it wasn't. It was just that if she wasn't going to talk about work – he wasn't either. He knew she couldn't. But he really shouldn't be either. Because she wasn't Intelligence anymore. She wasn't CPD anymore. He wasn't even sure if she was … Jay just wasn't sure what she was anymore. Right now. To him. Or him to her. To each other. He wasn't sure who she was. Or where she was. Or where they were or where they were going to be after this little bit of compassion care furlough she got came and went. And when would that be? Tomorrow morning? Sunday night? Next week? Until Eth got out of the hospital? Until he was better? And when the fuck would that be?

Because the other reality was they were on a death watch. He may not die tomorrow. Or the next day or next week or next month or next year. But they were on a slow fucking decline. A fucking fight for his life. Or for him to make something of the life he had. And he was never going to be better. So when that's the fucking reality how do they decide how long she gets to be home? What amount of time do they fucking place on it? How long until it blew the case? Or she blew her cover? He didn't fucking know. But he wouldn't be surprised if they'd given her maybe 24 to 72 hours to come and see and do and say whatever it was she needed to see or do or say.

And that wasn't really going to help anything. It wasn't going to help them. Or her. Or Ethan. It was likely just going to get all of them upset.

So maybe he shouldn't have called. Maybe he shouldn't have tracked her down and made sure she knew her little brother was in the hospital. But things hadn't looked good at the start. It'd been fucking terrifying at the start. And he knew she'd want to know. That she'd want to be there. That she would've wanted to be there when fucking 51 called the bullpen before the fucking school had even gotten onto the phone to Hank. When Gabby had been the one treating Ethan's seizing body on the fucking tiled bathroom floor at Ignatius.

Erin would've wanted to be there in the ER when they tried to figure out what the hell was going on. To be there for those first rounds of imaging and doctors and increasing number of specialists. She would've wanted to be there during the discussions about treatment and to talk to Hank when he decided on the route they were taking. The one that Jay was sure a cop's health benefits wouldn't come anywhere covering in its entirety – if it even covered it at all. And one that Will had told him was literally costing tens of thousands of dollars a day – just in the treatment. Not in the doctor's time and the fact the kid was occupying a hospital bed and still having tests done on him and other medication and fluids being pumped into him. And she would've wanted to be there to hug and comfort Eth as he finally came too and realized he couldn't see. Just like she'd want to hug and comfort him now in the moments he became overwhelmed and panicked about what was happening to his body and how all the medication was making him feel. And she'd want to sit and pray with the rest of them – as much as any of them fucking prayed – that at least things were under control enough now that the seizures had passed. Even if the rest of his body's functioning – and the way his brain and neuro-system communicated with his fragile body – was still in fucking disarray.

But that maybe that'd change in the coming days. When they cleared him of his blood and tried to wash out all its fucking infection and inflammation before pumping him full of other people's immunoglobulin in the hopes that foreign material would somehow know how to fight back inflammation than Eth's body did. That maybe then there'd be some light at the end of the tunnel – and in his eyes. And that he'd be back on his feet and be well enough to push through some of these things he kept talking about – clinging to – about what his summer was going to look like. What he was going to do. Even if the optic neuritis meant that he wouldn't be seeing – at least not very clearly at all - any of these things that he had on his list. A list he needed – to go over and over with all of them – to try to get through this fucking hump.

But he didn't get into any of that. Because she was there. The decision had already been made. He'd made his. She'd made hers. And when it came to this – Jay knew that this was at least where Erin wanted to be. That if he and their relationship hadn't been enough. And if Eth and Hank and Henry and Olive hadn't been enough. Before. Ethan was now.

So he just pulled back his snark. Because she hadn't even replied beyond making a disgusted sound at his line. And that was likely warranted. It was a jab when he'd said he didn't want to fight. And he'd taken a swing.

"I'm running point," he said flatly.

"What about Al?" she asked, giving him a look. There was mild surprise to it. That he'd been trusted with that job. Given in.

"He's helping," Jay said. "But Olinsky and paperwork …"

Alvin might go all out when it came to forging paperwork and creating a paper trail. But giving the Ivory Tower the kind of bullshit forms and reports they wanted daily, weekly and with each and every case? That was a different story. He didn't have the time of day for that shit. And Jay didn't exactly blame him.

"How's it going?" she asked.

Jay shrugged. "It's bullshit," he provided. "Ruzek and Upton don't listen. I've had to be an asshole."

She gave him a thin smile and a little arc of the eyebrow at that. This little jab of her own. Like being an asshole wasn't much of a stretch for him even on his better days.

"Is Kim back yet?" was all she asked, though.

He nodded. "Yea," he allowed. "She knows what's going on. That we're short handed."

That got a little nod out of her but she kept staring out the window. "I can get to the hospital myself."

"It's fine," he said. "I should take the dog out for a quick run anyway."

Her eyes drifted back to him. "Has he left the hospital at all?"

And he still didn't know how to answer that beyond shrug again. "Maybe to shower and change," he allowed of Hank. That might be being generous. He was actually fairly certain that Olive had gone and retrieved some clothes and things from Eth's room for him.

"Not work?" she asked. "At all?"

Because maybe that was the true gauge.

"He's on administrative leave," Jay said. Her eyes snapped to his again. But he only met them with a look that said she could ask Voight about that himself. Though, he did give the spoiler of, "Al and Platt went and smoothed things over. I think he's switching over to furlough or family leave on Monday."

She exhaled again and rested her head against the window. "I shouldn't have left," she said at almost a whisper.

And again all Jay could find in him was to shrug. "But you did," he said.

Her eyes drifted his way. Slowly. Watery. Her lips trembled a bit and she screwed them in an effort to not let her body and her emotions betray her. To try to hid from him – and the decisions she'd made – some more. To shove them back that many steps further from the progress they'd made. And from trying to figure out some way back. Or someway out. Or at least where the fuck they went in all of this. Now.

"But you're back now …" he allowed. And that was going to have to be where they started. For now. Whatever the fuck now was.

 **AUTHOR NOTE:**

 **So … I decided to use this as a sort of bridge. A place for me to get to in terms of So It Goes. And then a place for me to work from if/after I get that far.**

 **Basically this is going to be maybe 4-10 chapters dealing with how to cast and redirect this AU for if Erin had made the decision to go to counter-intelligence. What it would mean for them as a couple and a family. And then how they move beyond it.**

 **It's a recast of the finale and its implications to try to make it jive with the story, plot, characters and the arcs with the AU's.**

 **Hopefully that makes some sense. Hopefully it's an OK read. I do have an idea where this is going and know how it's going to end. So hopefully it will be a quick and easy write. And hopefully it will be enough to motivate me to finish up the previous stories and their chapters, scenes and arcs. But this collection of chapters might serve as the logical conclusion of this AU generally. As I'm not sure there will be much material in the series going forward that will inspire me and I'm not sure I'll be watching in the fall beyond the first few episodes.**

 **I may go back and finish up the pregnancy one. But right now it's not a priority and not sure if/when it will be now.**

 **Anyway, I hope you liked the first chapter. Your reviews, feedback and comments are always much appreciated.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Title: The Way From Here**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Erin must deal with the consequences of her decision to take a position in FBI counter-intelligence at the expense of her relationship with Jay and her relationship with her family. But an emergency with her younger brother provides her with the opportunity to re-examine her choices and to try to rectify any damages to her relationships. This story takes place in the AU established in Interesting Dynamics.**

 **SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers in this collection from Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas, Scenes, Aftermath and So It Goes (including chapters/scenes in So It Goes that have not yet been written or posted). This series also contains SPOILERS related to the finale of Season 4 of Chicago PD.**

Erin leaned against the wall just outside the door to the hospital room where Ethan was being housed. She'd been standing there for a while. A long while. But she couldn't seem to bring herself to go inside. Even that was the whole reason she was there.

But things were different now that she was actually there.

She hadn't been on the visitor's list when she'd gotten up to the pediatric ward. And the security guard at the entrance had noticed her. More importantly - he hadn't recognized her. Not that she'd recognized him either. Not that she saw anyone up there milling around – coming or going – that she recognized. But it'd been a while since Ethan had actually been admitted.

Or at least that's what she was telling herself. She just had to keep telling herself that so much doesn't change in six weeks. But it was just those six weeks that had caused the hold up – the confrontation – at the entrance to the ward.

It hadn't mattered how many times she told the guard that she was Ethan Voight's sister. He didn't care. He wouldn't listen. He just kept saying right back to here that she didn't have a visitor's badge. Not that it would've even matter if she had had a visitor's badge – not that she would've even been able to get one in the first place - because she wasn't on the list. Ethan's list. Hank's list. Her family's list. She wasn't an approved visitor. Not on the list that would gain her entrance to the pediatric ward and her baby brother.

But the guard had left that part out when she'd gone back downstairs to try to find someone who could give her a fucking badge. A badge now that they were after visiting hours. But she'd near been treated like a criminal who in essence was trying to break into the pediatric ward. A person under suspicion for wanting in there – at least when they weren't on the list.

She'd ended up going to Emerg to find someone who had enough torque to get her the damn thing. That had been a bad idea too.

First she'd seen Will and he could hardly look her in the eyes. And he did his best to say all of two words to her, "Ask Maggie".

She supposed she couldn't entirely blame Will. She could at least accept where he was coming from. She'd been around the block enough to know that. Been in enough relationships. Broken enough hearts. That's what Hank would tell her. A string of them since she was fifteen years old. But Jay wasn't supposed to be one of them. That hadn't been on her agenda. It never was. But it seemed like she'd done a good job at hurting him over the years. Repeatedly. But it also seemed like she did that with most people she came into contact with. She was bad news. Born into bad news and that headline just kept on following her around. And she could tell she'd officially added Jay to the list of broken hearts and people she'd hurt – whether she'd meant to or not. Whether there'd been a reason or not. And that hadn't been her intention. But it did seem to be what she was good at.

Not that Jay had said any of that. Yet. Not directly. But he didn't have to. They seemed to function in this uncomfortably comfortable grey area of communication issues. Non-communicative tendencies. Understanding each other without talking – even when they should be talking. Because the silence and the looks usually said just as much – if not more than any of their actual conversations or arguments. And this time she wasn't even getting those audible and visual cues from Jay. Like Will, he wasn't doing a whole lot of looking at her either.

And even though Jay not wanting to talk to her – not wanting to fight – not wanting to talk to her hurt, somehow Will not looking at her, not fucking talking to her hurt more. Because it really drove the point home.

Will and Jay were talking and Jay wasn't saying good things. And that Will was on his side. And that made sense too. You're supposed to be there for your brother. Be on his side. To have his back. To look out for him. But that look he gave her also just said she was on his shit list too – one that she hadn't fully accepted existed until she got into the Seirra with Jay at the airport. And even though she hadn't been on Ethan's – Hank's – approved visitors' list, she was pretty sure she was more than likely on their shit lists too.

And with being on that list – Will's, Jay's, Ethan's, Hank's – she could tell that Will he didn't much like her in that moment. Or maybe it was more that he didn't plan on liking her much ever again.

And that seemed unfair, because he'd fucking taken up residence in her fucking house. Not that in the half-hour she'd spend there showering and changing that it'd really felt like her house. It didn't feel like the place she'd left. It looked like Jay hadn't changed a thing. Moved anything. Only he had. The messes she'd left behind had been cleaned up and replaced with the disaster Will left in his wake. Literally and figuratively. And she could see the little annoyed piles of Will's crap that Jay had clearly cleared from somewhere – the kitchen counter, the coffee table, the guest room – Ethan's room – floor. His crap was every where. Hers – that she'd left in places it didn't belong – had been gathered and placed on her side of the walk-in closet. And she hadn't known where to find anything in there. Not now. And it'd only been six weeks.

Things weren't supposed to change that much in six weeks. It was only supposed to be a just a few months. A few months – it shouldn't have been a big deal.

But even Maggie had looked at her with surprised eyes. A gaped-mouth look that made her think that Jay had something to Will and Will had something to her and now everyone was talking about her. About the fact she left. The fact she left Chicago or CPD. Or more likely that she'd left Jay. Or Hank and Ethan.

They were talking about all of that. None of them were digging into what had been at stake at the time. Her mom. Her job. Her future. The one that she thought she was supposed to have. The career she'd spent her entire adult life working for. Living for. Learning. The only thing she knew how to do. The only fucking thing she had ever wanted to since she was sixteen years old.

But no one was talking about that. The logistics. Or about the fact she'd taken a gig that most people chase after their entire careers. An undercover assignment with the FBI in counter-terrorism. In New York City. That was a big deal. A good opportunity. Even if it had presented itself in the shittiest of ways. But sometimes you need to grab that fucking opportunity when it presented itself. She'd done that before. She'd had to. And she'd had to know too – for her, for her job, for her future. For her mom. And whatever any of that meant – whatever judgments people were casting – it was all only supposed to be temporary. Only a few fucking months.

Or at least that's what she'd told herself. It was what she still wanted to believe.

It was what she did believe. Because she had still wanted to come back here. To all of this. Her home. Her friends. Her family. She might not have looked back. But that was only because she was looking ahead - to her future. And she'd thought it was still here. In Chicago. But with the way everyone was acting – the way they were looking at her - maybe she'd thought wrong.

But maybe she was being paranoid. Being undercover did that to you. Being around people who operated in a state of paranoia and outright delusion – this fucking detachment from reality or an over-attachment to the some fucked-up reality TV reality a notable proportion of their country seemed to be living in anymore - did that to you.

So maybe no one was really looking or gaping at her. Or at least not about her and her choices. Maybe she'd try to work at deluding herself into thinking and believing that. To convince herself that the real looks she was getting were maybe just because of the hair. Or the nail polish.

She'd briefly thought about maybe trying to change it – to fix it – since Jay had said she didn't look like her. She'd forced herself not to read between the lines of that blunt statement. Until he'd more directly said that her look was going to upset Ethan. And he'd said that all too bluntly. He wasn't pulling any punches and in the little bit of time they'd spent together he'd definitely gotten in some good jabs. And it hurt. But she should've taken a better fighter's stance. She should've come back to reality and been ready to take a pummelling. But somehow she'd thought they'd play fair. This didn't feel fair. But she was sure Jay would tell her she'd started it and now he was just rolling with the rules she'd established.

But there wasn't going to be a quick and easy way to suddenly "be her" again. And dealing with it would just take time when the clock was already running. She didn't want to waste the limited time she had dealing with hair dye and nail polish remover. And then dealing with all again in what would amount to a matter of hours later when she'd be having to get back on a plane again. So she was just going to have to hope that her baby brother didn't give her the kind of look at the rest of Chicago seemed to be directing her way. Though, she already knew that was likely delusional too.

And even though Maggie was able to find someone to print off a fucking visitor badge for her, it hadn't changed the fact she wasn't on the list. It'd been a fucking round-about conversation that only served to upset her when she already felt like she was standing on a banana peel right there. That coming back – to this – was about to send her slipping and sliding. Because this wasn't the place she left six weeks ago. It wasn't the same. Six weeks ago she would've been on the list.

She'd spent two years bringing Ethan to appointments at Med. To appointments at the Brain Trauma Center. To appointments at RIC. To appointments with his neurologist and other specialists. She'd clocked nearly as many hours sitting in medical appointments as she had on the city's clock. But now she wasn't on the list. Something the visitor badge guy had just dismissed as "it's a different list – database – when they're admitted."

But he didn't get it. He didn't understand that this was her family. She thought. And she wasn't on their list anymore. That she could see the screen and see that Jay and Olive and Platt were there in plain sight as approved visitors for her baby brother. But she wasn't.

Logically she knew that Hank wouldn't have had reason to put her name on the list. That he wouldn't have expected her there. That he hadn't been the one trying to reach out to her. That there was a good fucking chance he was going to look like someone pissed in his coffee the moment she did step through the door and into that room – to see her little brother.

He knew she was coming. Not Ethan. She didn't think. Hank, though. Because the guy had eventually called the contact number Hank had left and he'd granted permission for her to come up. That's about all she could overhear him saying on the phone, "She can come up." Even in the faint echo through the phone receiver he had that raspy monotone and there wasn't any surprise in his flatness that she was there. There wasn't much of anything in the tone. But Hank wasn't one to let his inflection give away what he was thinking or feeling. And at this point not much surprised him.

That call had been a while ago, though. She'd gotten her badge. She'd come back upstairs. And she'd shoved that thing in the security guard's face – holding it out like a hand to just stop him before he even asked. But her beeline slowed as she got closer to Ethan's room. As her anger and frustration at the whole badge fiasco faded and reality set in more. As she reflected more about the underlining statement what not being on that list meant. To her. To her family. To her future. The things she'd thought she had – and had waiting for her. But the things that her grip on seemed to be slipping from and like her feet were sliding right along with her.

But they skidded right to a stop outside Eth's room. The door open but she couldn't go in. She couldn't even go and cast a shadow in the doorway. Instead she slumped her shoulder against the wall and just listened. And maybe she waited. To see if Hank would come looking for her as the minutes ticked by from that call upstairs to get her on the list. And he didn't come looking. Ten, twenty, thirty minutes went by and she just stayed slumped against that wall outside the door.

Hank was reading to Eth. The same flat monotone that she'd heard over the phone. One of the few times in his life that Hank ever used more than a couple sentences – if not a couple of words – at a time. Reading to his children.

She remembered that about when she'd been taken in by the Voights. That any night Hank was home on time, it was him who'd do Justin's lights-out routine. That he'd be in the bedroom with the door open and that flat monotone would come out of there as he read to his son. That in those first few months as she sulked upstairs – with the imposed open door policy in her first real bedroom she'd ever had in her life, all of her own. But every night there'd be those twenty minutes or so where Hank or Camille was reading to Justin. Something about Hank's was better. Or maybe it was that always that after he finished getting Justin's lights out for the night he'd step across the hall and check on her. He'd talk to her – as much as he ever talked, less than he did having just read to his child. And he'd usually tell her to stop hiding upstairs. That it wasn't her lights-out yet. To come watch some TV. To come sit in the back with him and Camille. To be a part of the household. And sometimes she did. And sometimes she didn't.

But something she did do – even after she'd finished with her initial sulking in those first few hard months – was still go upstairs at Justin's lights-out. And she'd still lay in her bed with the door open and listen to whatever it was that was being read to the kid across the hall. Because it was comforting. That flat monotone out of a man who usually had so few words for anyone about anything had become a touchstone in her routine and life. Maybe more than she had ever wanted to acknowledge or admit.

It was something she'd gotten to listen to – sporadically – again when Ethan was born. And now with Henry. And there was still a quiet comfort to it. Something about it that felt like home. And maybe it added to her pause of standing there right now. Listening to him read to Ethan again. Maybe just the sound of it felt like home for the first time since she'd landed in Chicago. And maybe she didn't want to break that spell by stepping into that room and discovering what was waiting for her.

Because she was afraid of the look Hank was going to give her. The anger or the disappointment. The one that Ethan was going to give her. The hurt and the confusion that she knew would manifest itself as teen-aged boy anger too. Jay had told her that much. That Eth was hurt and angry and confused. But that was about the end of where the explanation of what she was walking into had ended. That all she'd been told by her handler was that Ethan had been hospitalized after having a seizure and was undergoing treatment. There hadn't been further details and she hadn't waited around for more. She'd thought Jay would give her some. But he hadn't. Not really. He'd just deferred her to talking to Hank and the medical staff. The experts – like he didn't have his finger on the pulse of exactly what was going on in there. Because he knew Eth's medical file as well as she did – or as well as she had. And even if Hank wasn't being communicative with him, he had Will and Natalie at his disposal. They had to be telling him something. But Jay had told her nothing. So she really didn't know what she was talking into. At all. She only knew it was bad enough that they'd let her come home – to what was left of it – for now. Briefly.

And that just scared her too. Just like she hadn't heard a beep out of Eth in the half-hour she'd been leaning against that wall outside his door. She'd only heard the occasional clicks and beeps of whatever machinery they had in there hooked up to him. And Hank's voice in that plodding, even rasp.

She'd try to frame it with the excuse of trying to identify what exactly it was that Hank was reading to Ethan. It'd taken a while. Longer than she thought it would. She thought she was familiar with the repertoire that still lined Hank and Camille's bookshelves. The illusion that Hank kept up that it was just a paperback novel reader when he really was more of a classics kind of guy. When he'd disclosed that books – reading – was one of the things that brought him and Camille together and kept them together. A good book. That you could be more than one thing. You were allowed to be a cop and like Steinbeck. That you could grow up poor but that it didn't mean you had to be poor in mind or spirit. Or worse – small in mind or spirit.

She should've been able to pick it out. She'd heard enough of the house's bookshelves read to her brothers. She'd had enough of the books handed to her and been expected to read them herself. Because if she wasn't going to try at school – she was at least going to read at home. And if she wasn't going to talk to them about what was going on in her life – or through her head – she was at least going to tell them what she thought about a book. What she felt about it. But even with that being a quiet behind-the-scenes reality in her life for seventeen years, it'd taken longer than it should've to pick out what he was reading that night. Or maybe it took just as long as she wanted. The time she needed.

Nineteen-Eighty-Four. It was somehow so Hank. And she didn't want to reflect too deeply on what sort of off-hand commentary was going on there about what she was doing these days. Or the political administration in their country. Or the city Chicago was and what it was becoming and what it meant to be a cop there anymore. Or anywhere in America. About what it meant to be a kid growing up in the 21st century. About the people they were and are or should be. What she did know was that while most kids Ethan's age were reading Hunger Games and Maze Runner and Divergent and all sorts of "teen fiction" with its pulpy covers – that Hank had picked an even more terrifyingly accurate dystopia to read to his son. While he was laying trapped in a hospital bed.

There reached a point that listening to it became too much. On too many levels. So she'd gathered herself and forced herself away from that wall and upright and to take those steps into the doorway. To finally get her look at the guy who'd raised her and the baby brother, who in essence, she'd helped raise.

Hank was sitting low in one of the visitor chairs – not the guardian chair that labelled itself as a recliner. An alternate sleeping option for parents that didn't want to leave their child's bedside and wouldn't be getting much sleep no matter where they were. Which was likely a good thing, since there was no way you could get anything resembling sleep in that thinly padded chair lined with some sort of vinyl. It wasn't much better than the chairs in the chemo bays where Eth had been going to get his treatment for the medical trial that she was going to hazard a guess wasn't working. Not for them to locked upstairs in the pediatric ward.

It didn't look like Hank had any interest in using the recliner anyway. It was piled with the indications that he hadn't left the room much and that they'd been there a while. There was an overnight bag there and some of Eth's comfort items sitting on top of the rolling hospital bed table that it didn't look like he was using. His tablet and his headphones. One of his binders of baseball cards and his flip pack of dinosaurs and fossils. And more books, newspapers and magazines that made Erin wonder just what kind of clip Hank was actually reading to her brother.

She took some comfort in seeing that the one distinctive clicking sound she'd been hearing in the hall was Ethan restlessly pressing at the switch on a fidget cube he held in his hand. But that was about where her comfort in that moment ended.

Ethan's face was flushed in a way that suggested they might've used steroids on him. And if it wasn't that – he'd had yet another allergic reaction to one of the drugs they were pumping into him. And it looked like they'd been pumping a lot into him. There was a water-logged puffiness to him. This bloated body that was in a bed that made him look smaller than he was. One of his blankets from home had been added to the bed and she could see Dog had made it to the hospital once again – even if this time he was apparently old enough that he wasn't clutched under his arm but sitting on the corner of the raised bed staring down at him with its beady eyes. Ethan's own beady eyes were vacantly gazing in the direction of Hank's voice but they looked tired and unfocused. Sad.

He must've been cold. A beanie was on his head but he had either decided he wanted his ears to cool down or had squirreled on the bed in such a way to be able to look at his dad and it's one side had near pulled up and off his head. And Erin could see that his hair had been shaved down. She could see the fine scars and the more prominent track marks from where they'd pieced together his skull after his massive head injury. But she could only speculate why his hair was so short – near gone – now. But she knew that it wouldn't be a style that Hank would've given his stamp of approval at home. That it must've been for some kind of medical reasons – or maybe hygiene efficiency – during this hospitalization. Because Ethan's locks were one of coveted items of Hank's. One of the things that so abundantly clearly reminded him of Camille that he grasped so tightly too even if he didn't talk about it – or want to talk about it. Hair that Erin knew all of Ethan's life he'd get those smacks and looks from his dad if he ever fucked around with it in a way that Hank didn't like. In a way that took away from the fact that Ethan had his mother's genes in there. This remaining definitive piece of Camille. And, she knew that even though it'd be left unsaid Hank would be quietly struggling with his hairless son – no matter what he spouted at the kid in the coming days, weeks and months about hair growing back.

Ethan was wrapped in an oversized hoodie that she recognized as one of Justin's – not one of his own. It's draping allowed easy access to the multiple lines and IVs that were running away from Eth's body. And she found her eyes following them – landing on a large bag of yellow fluid dripping into her brother. And she weighed either it was some sort of drug cocktail or if it was just a banana bag. Something that only someone on an approved visitors' list should be able to discern and only after frequent visits. But she hadn't been on that list and right now she wasn't sure what that bag was.

"Look who's here," she heard Hank rasp and managed to pull her eyes away from the IVs. To dart them to Hank but she couldn't read him. Just that he looked exhausted and that the only thing he gave to her was one of his smacks.

So she moved her eyes over to Ethan instead. But he was looking at her just as blankly. Like he really didn't recognize her. But she didn't think her darker hair and slightly longer hair could be that much of a throw off. It'd only been six weeks. Just six. You don't not recognize someone after just six weeks.

"Hey, Eth," she tried. "Been a minute."

There was a flicker in his eyes at the voice. A surprised recognition that slipped across his face – one that he couldn't hide.

"Erin?" he managed, his eyes squinting.

"Yea," she acknowledged, tucking a piece of her darker hair behind her ear and letting herself step fully into the room.

"Your sister came to see you," Hank affirmed, shifting in his chair, uncrossing his legs and bending forward to toss the book onto the little set of drawers that she doubted he was using and doubted that the nursing staff was storing anything in. Though everything in the room said they'd been there a while and were going to be there a while – it also looked like everyone was just ready to leave and had no intention of truly unpacking in any way that might indicate they had any intentions of staying there longer than necessary.

But there still was an underlying tone to the way Hank said it. The way he hadn't looked at her when the statement was made. But at least he'd used the word 'sister' in there and she wasn't sure she'd expected that with the way her arrival had been going so far.

"I thought you were in New York," Ethan said with his own tone. The surprised recognition that had played across his face was quickly disappearing from his voice. "On a case or something."

"I was. Or something," she put back to him. "But I heard you were laid up and I wanted to check on you."

That got nothing. She wasn't sure what she expected. Realistically, this should've been exactly what she expected. But it wasn't what she wanted. What she wanted was that little pre-schooler who'd come running at her for hugs even when she'd only been gone half the day waiting tables. What she wanted was that pre-teen kid who was still Camille's Cuddle Monster, who'd still come looking for chats and affection even if he was going to try out his teeny-bopper sassy and attitude on for size in the process. What she wanted even was that young teen who just a couple months ago was still annoying her and confusing where with wanting help with homework, attention on whatever random obnoxious sarcasm he was spouting at her, needing a hug and re-assurances as he struggled through finishing up Grade Eight and dealt with his physical pain and anxious depression that hung over him following his brother's death but who still wanted her at his baseball games, to tell him about 'retro' '90's music and movies and tv shows, and who still made her laugh like few people ever had in her life. But all he was doing right then was squinting at her with a blank expression that was slowly shifting to sullen and she sensed it wouldn't be long before it shifted again into something more enraged or at least withdrawn.

So she stepped closer to the bed – to him. She held up the book she'd been clinging too since she'd gotten through security at the airport and stopped to get a bottle of water – when she'd needed something much stronger, and still did now.

"Got this for you," she offered with an attempt at a smile.

"You don't need to buy my stuff," Ethan muttered with a more defined edge.

"I know," she shrugged. "But I saw it—"

"What is it even?" Ethan demanded a little more harshly.

She squinted at him a bit herself and glanced at the book she was holding up.

"His sight," Hank rasped and her eyes shifted to him again. But that was all she got. All he'd said. There wasn't going to be further explanation from either of them. But she processed that for a moment, her eyes drifting back to her baby brother's unfocused glare. To that one pupil sitting in slanted dilation in his one eye while the other just looked glassy and vacant.

"Umm …," she stumbled for a moment as that realization set in.

The reality that this was more than just the peripheral vision loss that Eth had been living with. That it wasn't just the blurriness that had been partially rectified with glasses. And that if this was another bout of optic neuritis, it wasn't the kind that had resolved itself within a few days and a round of oral steroids. And that scared her too. Because she had so many questions – answers she wanted. Demands that she wanted to scream at Hank. Ones that she wanted to get on the phone and scream at Jay for not briefing her – for preparing her. Because this wasn't a room – a situation – she had wanted to walk into blind. And right now she had no sense of the full picture. She was standing there – lost – just seeing a broken piece that now constituted her baby brother.

She gazed at the cover of the book. She tried to compose herself. She tried to stop her own eyes from glassing. She begged her own emotions not to betray her.

"It's Dragon Teeth. Michael Crichton's new dino—"

"Read it already," Ethan near spat at her. "Dad got it for my birthday."

"OK," Erin allowed. Though that subtext stung too. That she should've known. That she should've been there. For his fourteenth birthday. Just like she'd been there for every other ones of his birthdays. But she hadn't been. And even before she'd left she knew it was on the list of lots of things she'd miss that June. That she'd miss that summer. Or longer. And she'd still gone. She'd still missed it. She was missing it. All of it. Him. Them. Jay. Chicago. "I didn't know."

Hank just smacked. Though that one wasn't directed at her. It was at Ethan. But that was the extent of his commentary – or his warning. Instead he just pulled himself out of his chair and leaned over his son's bed, gaining a small glance in that direction, as his big, heavy hand landed on Ethan's forehead with his thumb stroking there before he righted his hat, tugging it firmly back into place and down over his ears. His hand cupped at his boy's cheek as Eth seemed to actually find his eyes. To actually look at his dad.

"Just goin' to hit the head, Magoo," he told the kid.

"No," Eth near whined at him. And there was subtext there that stung even harder. Hank's backward indication that he was going to give them a minute. Or that he didn't really want to be in the same room as her right then. Because he didn't want to get into it. Just like Jay hadn't wanted to. To talk. To fight. To be near her. But harsher still in that whine was the clear reality that Eth didn't want to be left in the room alone with her either.

"Been sitting for hours, Magoo," Hank nodded at him and dipped down to plant a brief kiss against the rim of his beanie. Another concerning indication of just where things might be at because Erin had only seen Hank do that with Eth – or any of them – a handful of times. And that lump in her throat seemed to grow more suffocating. "Need to get off my ass for a bit. Get a coffee. See about grabbing a bite. Bring you something."

It was a statement. But it was a question and Ethan's response was to shake his head hard under his dad's palm. Hank just caught his eyes even more – firmly.

"Heard the doc, Ethan," he pressed. "You getting some food into that belly is goin' make things a lot easier tomorrow."

It just got a grunt that was more of a moan out of her brother and a small head shake, as he diverted his eyes.

"You know what's going to happen if you don't start putting more of a dent in that food they're bringing in here," Hank said.

"I don't care," Ethan muttered.

"You do," Hank said flatly, but didn't further the argument. He just straightened, his thumb stroking at Ethan's forehead one more time before he let it fall away.

He gazed at her. But there was no offer of coffee that before he would've just automatically poured her if they were in the same room. Not asking if she needed a bite too. No telling her that she looked like she should eat something. Not one word indication that she should follow him. That he was ready to brief her. All she got was another one of those grunts that could hold so many different meanings. The ones that she used to be able to discern the meaning of just by looking him in the eyes. The way he'd taught her. But she couldn't read him that night. Maybe her own vision was too clouded. Because she could feel the tears brimming there. But she wasn't going to cry. But she also wasn't sure she'd be able to spend however long he left her alone in that hospital room with her broken little brother without reaching tears.

But he left them. Disappeared out the door and down the hall and left her standing there alone, starring at Ethan who was staring at the ceiling. And she didn't know what to say or what to do. So instead she just went and sat in the hard, plastic chair that Hank had vacated. The flimsy padding was still creased from the seams on his jeans and the seat warm from the alleged hours he'd been sitting there. A statement she didn't doubt. She suspected it was more like days than hours.

"You'd know if you'd been here," Ethan mumbled at her – without looking at her – before she'd even got settled.

"I know," she acknowledged. Because she couldn't argue that point. There wasn't a point.

"You didn't even call," Ethan hissed. "To say happy birthday. Or anything."

"I know," she acknowledged again. Because there was no arguing with that either. "But I couldn't, Ethan. I've been … working on a case."

"You're always working," Ethan muttered. A line that sounded so much like his brother. But a line that had previously been directed at Hank – not her. Always working. Always busy. But not her. She'd made time for her brothers. She'd been their advocate. Their back up. She was their big sister. She was supposed to be there. To protect them. But she hadn't done a very good job at that. Apparently. Another thing – another type of relationship – she was failing at. She had with Teddy. She had with Justin. And now she was with Ethan. And that wasn't part of the plan either.

"It's only for a few months," she offered.

An empty assurance she'd provided to him before she'd left. One that he hadn't bought then and she knew he wasn't buying now. That he didn't want to hear. Because Ethan didn't like to be lied to. Or talked down to. He didn't want to be treated like a kid. And he was used to life throwing more at him than anyone person should have to handle. But she wasn't supposed to be one of the things chucking those foreign objects at him. She was supposed to be out there in the field with him – on his team – catching those fly balls.

"Whatever …," Ethan said.

"Ethan," she pressed a bit harder. For herself – harder to push it out and to argue the point with him. To try to get this fourteen year old kid to understand. And why should he? It didn't seem like anyone else around her understood. The underlying message of everyone she was coming in contact with was that she'd made the wrong choice. Not just a wrong choice – a really fucking bad choice. "It's just a few months."

"You missed my Confirmation. You're gonna miss my grad. And basically my whole ball season," he near yelled at her. "And like a million other things."

"It's not all about you—"

She shouldn't have said it. It was a stupid thing to say to him as he lay there in a hospital bed. When she still didn't know what was going on with him. When she was still scared about what someone was going to sit her down and say to her. That she was going to get some real affirmation that she'd more than made the wrong choice. That she never should've left in the first place and that now she'd lost time that she wasn't going to be able to get back and she'd done damage that she wasn't going to be able to repair when her brother was already damaged enough.

But the words had come out before she'd fully thought about it. Just like maybe she'd made her decision to get on that plane to New York City before she'd fully thought about it. She'd just reacted. Because it was her mother. It was a trade she had to pursue because if she didn't the chips were going to fall even harder. That CPD would take her for a bigger ride. Come after her harder – and take them both down. That the timing would see her career – her life, her future – just flame out right there. And she'd grasped at the straws in front of her and she'd run when she had a chance. Before the life – the too-good-to-be-true moments she'd been experiencing – blew up in her face. Because they always did. Because that's what happened to her. To those around her. Because it's what she made happen. It was her reality. And now this was just blowing up too.

"Seriously?!" Ethan spat. His eyes flicked to her and tried to find hers – tried to drill into hers. "Fine. You missed Father's Day. And the concert. And you're gonna miss all summer. The Fourth. The good stuff and the fucking bad stuff."

"Ethan—"

"You're gonna miss Mom," he seethed. "And you know what Dad is like around Mom. And you know he's gonna be even worse now. Around J. And you're missing Henry's birthday too. You're missing all of it. And you don't even care."

"I care, Ethan," she said. "I wouldn't be here if I didn't care."

"You're only here 'cuz I'm in the hospital," he said and let his eyes rotate away again. "To act like you care. But if you cared, you wouldn't have left."

"Ethan …," she sighed and gazed at the ground. She wrung her hands. She tried to organize her thoughts. She tried not to say anything stupid but all she could manage was, "I don't want to fight."

Jay's line from earlier. The one that pressed all the wrong buttons with its message that they were already fighting. That the fight had started when she'd left and it'd continued even in her absence and it was still going on now. But she knew what he meant, because she didn't want to fight either. She didn't want to spend the bit of time she had here – with Ethan, home – fighting. She wanted to be there for him. To try to help him. To comfort him. She just wanted to be his sister. To support him.

"I do care," she tried. "I care a lot. Just because I haven't been able to be here doesn't mean I haven't been worrying about you or thinking about you."

And she had been – as much as she could let herself. Because she had to keep her head on straight. She had to live her cover. Her story. Her lie. She couldn't be investing too much of her headspace to home. She couldn't be looking back. Because her believability was in the details and if she was distracted from them – no one was going to buy it. She'd get blown. Or worse. So she had to focus. She had to compartmentalize. She had to convince herself that everything at home would be fine. For a few months. It was only supposed to be a few months.

"Yea, well, that don't help much," Ethan said, his voice more broken then before.

She shifted in the chair slightly, dragging it closer to the bedside and reaching out to squeeze his hand. He pulled it away, clenching it tight into a fist so she didn't have any fingers to try to thread hers into.

"I'm here for you, Eth," Erin said. "I'm here – right now."

His fist clenched restlessly. "For how long?" he asked quietly.

She reached again and wrapped her hand over top of the fist. He didn't jerk away that time but she could feel the tension pulsing through him – right down his arm.

"I'll know better tomorrow," she said. "A few days, likely."

His glassy unfocused eyes stared straight ahead – at the TV that was off and the one she was starting to suspect that he couldn't see well enough to even fully realize it was sitting there.

"I won't even be done yet then," he said quietly. "I won't even be home yet."

"I know," she acknowledged again. "But Jay told me that they're starting your plasmapheresis tomorrow? I can be here with you for that. Sit with you. If you want."

He gave his head a small shake and pulled his hand away. "I don't."

That lump in her throat choked her that time and tears stung at the back of her eyes. "Eth …" But she couldn't find the words. "I'm … really sorry this is happening. And I'm sorry I wasn't here for you. But I'm here now."

"For like a minute," he said. "Then you're just gonna be gone again."

"It's only going to be a few months more," she tried again.

"And I've heard that before," Ethan said. "Dad said it when he went to lock-up. When he sent me to boarding school. He said it'd just be a few months. And it wasn't. And I'm still mad at him about that."

"You don't seem that mad at him," Erin said.

"'Cuz he's all I've got now," he said.

A line she'd heard from Hank when Justin died. That her and Ethan were all he had left. A line she'd used herself when trying to justify her decision to Jay – that Bunny was all she had. That she was her mother. And it was an argument that ran completely contrary to what she was about to say to Ethan.

"You've got me," she said.

"No I don't," Ethan said. "You're … working …"

She blinked back the tears that were threatening to spill over. "You've still got me, Eth. And you've got Olive and Jay here with you."

"They're not real family," he said flatly. "They're just like … married in. And Olive doesn't even have a reason to stay around. She already left once and you're the one who convinced her to come back and now you left too. So what makes you think her and H are gonna stay now? And Jay … you're broken up. Basically."

"Did he say that?" she urged, that lump growing larger. The fear about exactly what she'd done and how she'd fucked it all up this time looming even more than before. But Ethan didn't have an answer for her and she wasn't sure that Jay would air that kind of dirty laundry out with her baby brother. He hardly talked to her about the big things – he wouldn't talk to a fourteen-year-old about them. "We aren't," Erin stressed.

"But you will," Ethan muttered under his breath but it only knocked more air out of her lungs. "And then he's not even wannabe family soon."

"Olive and Jay care about you," Erin said. "They're going to be here for you."

"Like you?" Eth pressed out. "'Cuz if being here for me is not being here then guess, yea, that's exactly what it's gonna be like."

"They're family," she tried. "We're all family. Blood doesn't make family," Erin said.

"Yea," he said gummy. "But it's the blood you stick around for and stick up for."

And it made her wonder if he knew. If somehow someone had let something slip. If he'd found out that part of her decision was driven by Bunny – by saving her fucking ass. And that in doing that she'd put blood ahead of family. She'd put it ahead of the people who took her in and the guy who raised her – and the little brother she'd watch grown up. She'd put it ahead of the man she'd been working toward making her own family with. But it had only supposed to be a temporary shift. Just a few months.

"Ethan … I'm here now," she tried again. "And then … it's only going to be a few more months. You've got to try to think of it like … remember when Justin was at Basic? We weren't able to see him those months, and he wasn't able to call or get online with you much, right?"

His head literally turned away from her at that point. He stared at that chair piled with his and Hank's belonging that looked so out of place but so set in place. Just trapped there.

"J basically never talked to me anyway," he said.

She sighed. "OK … not the best example …" she conceded. "OK … remember when …"

"I remember that J barely got out of jail and then Dad made him join the Army," Eth said. "So you sayin' Dad made you leave too?"

There was a flatness too it. This outright expectation to it. That he may have his dad in his corner but he didn't completely trust him. Or believe everything he said. That he wasn't too sure that his dad really had his best interests at heart. A tone that she'd thought they'd moved beyond. One that they'd spent two years toning down since he'd been home and the tone the three of them had worked on resolving in the months since Justin had died. But there it was – again. Now. And Erin wasn't sure what to say. She wasn't sure if and how she wanted to wade into that accusation.

That Hank had made her do something. She wanted to think – to believe – that Hank had never made her do anything. That of all the things she'd done as "Hank's girl" – she'd volunteered for. She'd taken upon herself. Decision she'd made on her own. But there was also the underlying reality that Hank had always thought he knew what was best for her. He always thought that about all his kids. And he manipulated situations to get the outcome that he wanted.

But she had trouble believing that any of this was the outcome he wanted. But he must've expected it. Because he told her not to look back. And she'd taken that as go with her gut. To go with the deal she'd made. To stick by the path she'd chosen. That sometimes that was right and sometimes it was wrong. But you've got to stand by your conviction – your decisions – in that moment.

But maybe that's not what he meant. Maybe what he meant was not to look back because it was never going to be the same. That you can't just leave. Not for six weeks. Not for a few months. You can't do that and come back expecting things to be OK. You can't just step back into the roles you had and jump back in where you left off with the people you loved.

And this – coming back, looking back, seeing what was still here and what might be waiting for her when she did get home and starting come to terms with what might really be gone when she did – was making her head spin. It was making her spin around and backwards in a way that she wasn't sure she could stand by her decision. But this wasn't going to be as easy to get out of or walk away from as the DEA. But she also couldn't go back there without her her head on straight. She couldn't have her head spinning like that. But it was. In a way that she wasn't sure how to get through the next few days or the rest of her assignment and her U.C. and to close this case. Or how she was ever going to be able to come back here. Not if this place – now – was what her future looked like. Because it wasn't what she'd imagined.

"I remember too that Dad made J join the Army and then J went and got himself killed," Ethan said. "That he all talked and acted like he'd turned his life around and all that with Olive and Henry and whatever Signal Crap school. But all it did was make him go and get himself killed."

"Eth … this isn't the same thing," Erin said. But she couldn't bring herself to say she wouldn't get herself killed. Because she wasn't sure she wanted to make more promises that she knew she couldn't 100 per cent keep. And that was another empty reassurance. Because she just didn't know. And he knew that. He stressed on it – enough at the CPD. And now she'd left him imaging the unknown and the mind went strange places when it had all that vastness to deal with.

"You always say that," he said. "You always are standing up and covering up for Dad."

"Ethan …," she sighed. "I don't want you two fighting right now. You guys need each other."

He gave a little shrug and kept staring at that chair – those things. Those tiny parts of his life piled up to be at his disposal but that were sitting there untouched.

"Eth … you've got to understand … that there's going to be points in your life that … thing are going to happen and your dad … he's going to do what he can to make sure you've got some options in front of you. Paths for you to chose."

"Then I hope I die—"

"Don't say that," she spat at him, lunging forward and gripping at his hand. "Don't say that, Ethan. Not now. Not ever."

His blurry eyes shifted to her. His were brimming but so were hers. More than brimming. A tear trickled out but she wasn't sure he could see. He likely couldn't see.

"Before I ever do anything as fucking stupid that makes me go down paths as retarded as the ones you and J picked," he said.

"Ethan …"

But his head was already rotating away, back to his things and the life he was fighting to get back to – the one she'd walked away from but that she'd thought would still be waiting for her when she got back.

"I'm real tired," he muttered, dragging his hand away from hers. "So you can go now. Again. For real. And you don't gotta come back."

And she just sat in the chair, tears streaming, staring at him. Because she didn't know how to argue with that either.


	3. Chapter 3

**Title: The Way From Here**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Erin must deal with the consequences of her decision to take a position in FBI counter-intelligence at the expense of her relationship with Jay and her relationship with her family. But an emergency with her younger brother provides her with the opportunity to re-examine her choices and to try to rectify any damages to her relationships. This story takes place in the AU established in Interesting Dynamics.**

 **SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers in this collection from Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas, Scenes, Aftermath and So It Goes (including chapters/scenes in So It Goes that have not yet been written or posted). This series also contains SPOILERS related to the finale of Season 4 of Chicago PD.**

Voight stared at her. He'd been giving her a bit of time to process. For her to try to absorb what he'd said. What was going on with her brother. But he wasn't sure how much she'd heard.

Didn't think she was in the right headspace to be hearing much of anything he was saying. Hadn't really wanted to say much to her because of it either.

Knew she wouldn't have her head on straight. Knew her being there – seeing E like that – meant she'd be going back U.C. without her head on straight either. Wasn't supposed to be there to hear or see any of it. That'd been the fork in the road she'd picked. Decision he'd respected – even if he hadn't respected the choice she'd made, who's side she'd picked – much.

Make it worse, could tell she was doing her thing. Being too hard on herself. Because she had that posture. Doing that sulky teen-aged girl thing. Not the grown-daughter he'd raised.

Funny how no matter how grown your kids got they were still your kids and some of those (bad) habits and mannerisms from when they were growing up weren't things you could kick out of them no matter how hard you tried. They were who they were. Some things never changed.

Reached the point he had to wonder how much nurture had anything to do with it. Sometimes he wasn't even sure how much genetics had to do with it either. The come out in the world the way they are and you've just got to hope you help them be the best they can be within those parameters. Though, done the parenting thing long enough to know that that was pretty much a fucking mission set up for failure too.

Suppose he'd had some sort of delusion that at some point your kids become adults. And even though they did – in body and birthdays gone by – they were still your kids. And bigger kids, bigger problems. And then those big grown-up kids of yours just give you brand new problems in the form of grandkids.

Parenting was a job that never fucking ended. And it mostly seemed like it just got harder and messier as the years went by. Missed the times when a hug from Daddy, a kiss from Mommy, tossing the ball around in the yard after work, and a bowl of late-night ice cream – or just fucking barking at them and handing out some tough love and a bit of grounding – solved most problems. Or at least temporarily stopped them in their tracks.

But those days were a long fucking time ago. These days it was all about trying to kick away banana peels before they got slipped on. Pulling kids up out of some holes while you're digging other ones to kick the ones who hurt them into. And trying to figure out – alone – when the fuck you let them all on their face. When you fucking make the hard decisions for them. And when you've got to let them when to let them just be accountable for their own choices. Let them deal with the fall-out on their own.

Wasn't so good at that. Wasn't sure you were supposed when you were a father. Part of the job was to keep picking them up – even if you were kicking them in the ass as soon as you did it. Another part of the job was covering up for them.

But a whole lot of things you couldn't cover up for. Learned that the hard way. And there was another whole category of things you just couldn't fix for them. Even if you wanted to.

Sometimes you make a choice – you got to stand-by your convictions. Part of being an adult. And no matter how sulky his girl looked sitting across the table from him – slouched right against it, staring off into space and refusing to make any sort of eye contact – she was a grown-up. She made her choices. She had her job. She was going to have to live with that the best way she could figure out how. No easy fix at this point down the fork in the road she'd gone traipsing down.

"You look like shit," he finally tossed at her.

Least that got her eyes to flick to his. Got her to shift in her seat. To fucking sit up and stop slouching on that table. Though, she just sunk back in her chair. Slouching again, this time like she was going to slip right onto the floor. Teen-girl behavior again. Time and time again. Whatever she got herself in one of her situations and she took her time to sulk about it before she let herself hit rock bottom and started working on crawling out of that hole. Though, with the way she was sitting in that chair, at least her ass would tumble over the edge soon enough and likely send her sprawling onto the cafeteria floor. Better than her falling off a stool in a bar. Or shoving some crap up her nose in some club. Or however the fuck she decided she needed to deal with the latest mess she'd let herself – let Bunny – get her into.

Knew, though, no one much liked being told they looked like shit. But had been sitting there taking stock of her. Measuring her and where exactly she was at. Wasn't sure he liked what he saw. But had figured it was safe to bet that if and when she got around to dragging herself back to Chicago when this was all said and done it'd be a while before he liked what he saw. Takes time to settle back into society. Back into family. Back into real life. Friends and relationships. Takes time to mend fucking bridges. Earn back trust. Respect.

But really what he was taking stock in was that she looked like she'd been up all night and then some. That was putting it politely. Didn't know what exactly they had her plugged into but could take some educated guesses. And could deduce whatever the FBI had her mixed up in, she wasn't finding the time to take care of herself.

Her hair was longer. Had noticed she'd been growing it out but now he'd say it was getting almost to a length she hadn't had it since he'd brought her home. Making him see more of that street kid – and that mouthy teen-aged girl. Wasn't so much the length, though. It was how fucking stringy it looked. Just unkempt. Could tell she'd washed it before coming over to the hospital but with the way it was sitting could also tell it was going to take a few good washes before she looked anything like his girl. Even getting some shampoo and conditioner into the mess – a fucking comb through it – likely wasn't going to do it. Because whatever fucking piddley-girlie crap she put into her hair – or whatever fucking money she paid people to do to it – wasn't there. The fucking blond in her natural light brown waves.

The hair that when she was still a girl – at home with a fucking shower and hot water and toiletries – that got lighter and blonder and wavier in the summer sun, heat and humidity of Chicago in a way that always made his girl look a little softer than she was. In a way that almost reminded him of his wife when she was just a girl too. In a way that brought out the Popa Bear in him because he knew when it got like that the boys would be throwing peddles up at her window all summer long and it'd been added reason to get that motion-sensor spotlight installed on the porch outback. Didn't need no teen-aged shenanigans sneaking in or out of his house at all hours. Even though his girl was real good at leaving a trail of broken hearts. Still was.

But all that – the youth, his girl - whatever the fuck it was, it was gone. And even if her hair had darkened up some with age – the locks now occupying her head were too dark for it just to have been a matter of her hair having grown out.

Wasn't just the hair. The fucking metal she'd spent ears letting occupy her ears – and their cartilage – was back. Weird patterns of little black dots painted on her fingernails. Almost some sort of Morse code shit. And while they were talking she'd ended up shoving her sleeves part-way up her forearms in the stuffy basement cafeteria – showing off a tattoo. Couldn't tell what the fuck it was. Not a symbol he'd seen before. Though, the fucking starburst of staccato lines and dots didn't look that dissimilar to whatever the fuck it was she had painted on her nails. And an image, He knew it wasn't just fucking henna or make-up. That was there to stay – and he didn't like that. And he was doing his best to keep his own head on straight – and where it needed to be, there with E – and resist the urge to get himself in front of a database to start running that shit and see if he could get something to pop. To see what the fuck the FBI had sent her into – what Erin had gotten herself into, what Bunny had led her into, what he'd played a role in sending her landing.

That was bad enough. But the real worry was that she just looked pale. Dark fucking sunken eyes. And gaunt. Further evidence she hadn't been eating properly or taking care of herself on any level. Knew too she'd been losing some weight in the led up to this shit. Had seen the chances in her body. But the real change he'd seen was muscle, athleticism. He'd seen good health. Positive choices. Some improved self-care. And that was gone. And he'd found himself sitting there weighing if this gig had sent her crawling back into the bottom of a bottle or fucking worse. That her being a former addict had been fodder for the Feds and maybe they were taking a little too much advantage of that and putting her in situations that were having pretty significant impacts on her sobriety. In a way that might cost her that job too and any job in law enforcement in the future. Not to mention, it'd cost them the woman they'd be getting back. When that ever happened. If.

Actually, there wasn't an if. Even if Erin did bring herself back to Chicago when this was all said-and-done, hadn't had to spend much time sitting with her to know that it wouldn't be his girl, that cop, his boy's big sister of Halstead's fiancée and partner that would be sent back to them. These kinds of assignments – they don't work like that.

"You don't look so great yourself," she mumbled at him instead.

He allowed a grunt of acknowledgement. She was allowed to say it. Knew it was true too. Hadn't been a lot of sleep the past week. Fucking good thing he did OK functioning on so little and that he never had much of an appetite. But could still use a night or two of sleeping in his own bed and hosing down in his own shower. Not that it would make much of a difference when he ass would just end up back in Med moulding itself to the fucking chair in E's room again. And wouldn't matter where he was – that chair or on his own mattress – still wouldn't be sleeping like a baby for a while. Or ever again.

"I'm just tired," she provided. Likely reading into his face, his look, his grunt. Likely knew what realities he was weighing about where she was at and what she was into. What the FBI had let her get into. What parts of herself being U.C. had forced her to compromise. But that had been part of the choice she'd made.

Still he allowed her another small sound of acknowledgment and shifted in the latest hard, plastic chair to dig his keys out of his pocket.

"I can stay here," she said, watching him with some confusion creased against her forehead as he started to working at getting the house key off the ring. "If you want to go home and get some shut-eye."

"Mmm," Voight grunted. "Don't like leaving him alone long right now. The eye sight. Gets real disoriented when he wakes up."

"So I'll be there …," she tried.

But he just made another noise and shook his head, flipping the key off the ring.

"Jay said you're on administrative leave? That you had something at the Ivory Tower tomorrow?"

Allowed her another grunt of acknowledgement.

"Why?" she asked.

"To go get my wrist slapped," he allowed.

She cocked her head at him, unimpressed. "Why are you on administrative leave, Hank?" she patronized.

Voight shrugged. "Someone went rattling some sabres. Aren't anymore."

She let out a sigh and stared at him. There was a pathetic to it. She was hurt and frustrated and annoyed. But could also tell her had no clue how to navigate this. His sharp-tongued, pushy, bossy, ball-bustin', independent girl wasn't there that night. Had been ground down. Was weighing too how much of that was Bunny. How much of that was the assignment. How much of it was the situation she'd found herself in now and her doing a whole lot of second-guessing and re-assessment of some of her choices. And her trying to figure out if, and how, she could fix any of them. But the only answer to any of that was time and persistence. Wasn't anything she was going to resolve that night – or that trip home.

"So you just … aren't going to tell me anything," she huffed out.

Wasn't sure there was much to tell. At least not much that she needed to know. Not anything that would do her any good knowing at this point in time. But still met her eyes. Hard. Kept the contact even though she didn't look too comfortable with it. More teen-aged girl behavior. If they were going to talk, though, were going to do it looking each other in the eyes. Whether she liked it or not.

He gestured above him – off to his son laying in a hospital bed somewhere on the upper floors. Him getting there being the straw that broke the camel's back in how all that shit played out.

"Got sick of waiting on the school to do anything about the little assholes giving him a hard time," he provided. "Had a face-to-face with the ring-leader's dad. Decided he didn't like that. Got bent out of shape."

"Bent out of shape …" Erin muttered, shaking her head.

"Decided he was going to take that noise to his lawyer and to the Ivory Tower."

"And, now? What?" she just pressed at him. Actually looking at him this time. "He just decided to drop you … what? Re-arranging his face?"

He smacked at her. Set his sights there. "We reached any agreement."

"What kind of agreement?"

"I don't want my kid dealing with anymore trouble. He don't want his kid getting into any," he said. "And Caruso sure don't want any scandal floating around Ignatius."

Erin's eyes stayed on him. A squint setting in. "What's that mean?"

"Pubescent lot and cellphones don't mix," he put flatly. The look stayed on him. "Middle schoolers are having a bit too much fun on their lunch hour in the bathroom stalls with their phones."

Her eyes flickered again as she processed that. As some of the possibilities flickered there and set in. Possibilities he didn't need her thinking about. Concerns he didn't need her getting too worked up about now. Because some of the bullshit that had engulfed the Grade 8 classes over at Ignatius, thinking they were big shots – and too big for their shorts – before heading into high school, combined with a pretty shit understanding of the law and a know-it-all attitude that only twelve to fourteen year olds could pull off in quite that way was the past now.

She didn't need to know what some of that shit had done to Magoo. The sort of psychological warfare these kids had been ravaging on him. The kind of hell that was just even really setting in that he'd gone through for months. The full extent of it. She didn't need to hear the full breakdown of the final straw of what had happened – what those kids had done to him - in that bathroom before his son had ended up on the floor in a seizure. When the synapses just didn't go firing right. Least not through all the plaque the M.S. had left in his brain. Now in his spine. She didn't need to weigh how much all that fucking stress – that she'd added to with her own decision and the impact it had on the family, on the kid's life, on all of them – had contributed to this flare.

If it could even be called that. This was a full-on exacerbation. More than that – it was a clear progression of the disease that just kept trying to rob life and dignity out of his boy. And just like Erin couldn't turn the clock back on her decision, sure couldn't turn the clock back on this. So didn't need to go into all the details. Just wasn't much point.

So what he did provide was: "Seems like little Johnny and some of his cronies were really working at making and distributing child pornography with some of their dick pics and cyber-bullying. And charges like that – sure don't disappear from your life too good. Sure not the kind of reputation that a nice, elite Catholic private school wants making the headlines either. Frank wouldn't let that happen."

"So you extorted him," Erin put flatly, a glare setting in. "Carusso. The family. Those boys."

"You know, I haven't had a whole lot of time to deal with any of it lately. Been stuck here. But Trudy – smart lady, good cop. Got a real ear to the rail in our District. And sure cares a whole lot about kids. The good ones. Your brother," he smacked.

Erin just sighed at that and sunk back in the seat again. Looked at him. Her arms crossing over her chest.

"So what happens after tomorrow?" she asked finally.

Voight shrugged. "Assuming they're done with the horse-and-pony show. So will put in for FMLA. They kick up a fuss, guess I'll buy my FoP rep a coffee and see what my options are."

She gaped a bit. "You're going to take a leave? For how long?"

Gave her another shrug. Wasn't like it was optional. Least not right now. Practiced the crap father in these areas before. Couldn't leave E in a hospital bed under-going treatment alone. They didn't get some of his sight back by the end of thing and didn't know how he could just dump him at home either. Again, not without earning some Shithead of the Year award. Pretty sure his other kids thought he had enough of those on his mantel. Didn't need E adding to the collection.

"Can get 12 weeks FMLA. Got furlough, banked OT."

She stared at him in disbelief.

"See how this treatment goes. How he's doing after the week," he allowed. "Will want to stick close to him for the first week or two after I get him home. At least."

Not that he really felt like the next eight days in the hospital were going to do much. Already was hearing the noise that getting E's eye sight back was going to be a months and months long progress. That kid's his age with optic neuritis this bad sometimes never get their full vision back. And wasn't like his vision had been great before this between the brain damage and the scar issue and the previous mildler bouts of neuritis. Really, this bad, was really the M.S. sending a pretty clear message about where it was at and what it planned to put his boy through over the coming years.

And the reality was as the disease progressed it got just as progressively harder for Voight to try to envision his kid settling into anything that resembled much of a normal life. Right now it was impossible for him to figure out just what the fuck he was going to do with him this summer and what the fuck his Freshman year was going to look like. Just how the fuck he was even going to get his boy out of Ignatius and into the world with at least a high school diploma. Or how worth putting his kid through any of that was really going to be. What kind of job he'd get. What kind of future he'd have. How long he'd be around to enjoy any of the fruits of that labor that he knew for Magoo was really just going to be fucking torture.

Sitting for hours on end in that hospital room didn't do a whole lot to keep his head from going to what-ifs that weren't worth wasting his energy on. What-ifs that just made him want to get off his ass and out on the street and making calls and talking to some of his fucking contacts to try to start sorting out his own options. Pulling some strings. Getting a lay of the playing field and setting some shit in motion. But he do that and he'd be leaving E laying there – scared and alone. So instead he was just trying to keep his head on straight about it all. Work with what was in front of him. Focus on getting through the next eight days. Let them put his kid through these two treatments. Hope his body – his nervous system, his immune system – responded to them and E was able to start clawing his way back to the kid he was – still was there inside – and the life he had. For him to at least be able to enjoy some of the shit the boy had planned for his final summer before high school. To at least get him to the fucking joke that's a middle school grad. But also had been feeling like Grade 8 grad might be the only fucking grad he was going to get to see his youngest at in his cap and gown.

"What about Intelligence?" she sputtered.

Erin wasn't in the right headspace. She wasn't processing what was happening or where she was at. Where E was at. Where the whole fucking family was at. And Intelligence? When it came to E – how he was raising her brother – it was usually a thorn, not something she turned to immediately. She worried more about Magoo than the job usually. She had her priorities straight about family versus job – usually. Though, had shown some poor judgement there six weeks ago.

Intelligence – right now – it didn't mean shit. He couldn't let it mean shit. Or what was left of his family – laying there in the hospital – was going to crumble.

"Think getting E back on his feet is where my priorities need to be at right now, don't you?"

She shook her head in more disbelief that almost stung him. Confirmation again that in their minds – his kids – had all felt like he put the job before them. That he was willing to sacrifice them for the job. Time with them. Their well-being. Their lives. Their childhoods. Hadn't ever been the objective. Had tried to be a good dad. Good husband. Good father. But everyone had failing points.

"But what about the unit?"

He just shrugged again. Because that's all he could do. He'd made his decision too. Had been at another one of his own forks in the road. And his boy – and being next to him in the hospital – was where he was needed right now. Had made mistakes in the past about that – with all his kids. Wasn't going to do that again. Didn't have that luxury. These days he was about all E felt he had – and in some ways he was right about that. Whole lot of ways right now E was all he had left of the family he'd had – had raised – too.

"Think they're managing just fine without me," he said.

Her stare just hung there for a long time. A long, long time. But he kept her eyes during it. He watched the shifts and changes in it. The shock and then anger and then sadness settling in. Maybe at the potential loss of the unit – that the Ivory Tower had been coming after for years. Maybe more at the fact that he'd stepped back – aside, now – for E but not for her. But that wasn't quite how he saw it either. Let her make her own choice. If she'd decided to stay. If that meant they'd come after Intelligence as a whole. He'd deal with it. Figure it out. Come up with another plan. Another workaround. And if that didn't work this time, if the Ivory Tower finally got their way and put chains on the door, also would've figured something else out. Would've helped his team shuffle into other things. Good gigs with good cops doing real police work. People who knew what the job was and how you get things done in a city like Chicago.

"It looks like I'm out more than a couple weeks, talking to 'Tonio. See about him taking the reigns for a while," he offered.

Her chin went slack. Her mouth opening. Starting and stopping as she tried to find words.

"Got some idea about what's going on. Trudy. He's come in. We've done some chit-chat. Al's talked to him a bit."

"But … the State Attorney …"

Voight shrugged. "Guess that's not working out the way he hoped."

"So you're just letting him come back?" she full-on spat at him.

That got a smack. "Let you come back after your little DEA stint."

"You're the one who sent him to Stone in the first place," she pressed at him.

"He was at his own cross-roads," he nodded at her firmly. "He needed some options. Made sure he had them."

"Right," she huffed again, slouching back in her chair again. "You present really great options."

Voight shook his head. "You don't get to blame me for what you do."

She glared. But Voight just kept the eye contact. Jutted his chin to really make sure they were locked.

"Erin," he put to her just as firmly as before. "I told you. You were at a fork in the road. You had been for a while. It was time for you to decide which direction you were going to take. Who you were with."

Her glare hardened even more. "What was I supposed to do, Hank," she spat.

He shrugged at her and shook his head at the same time. "That wasn't something for me to decide. You're a grown—"

"She's my mother!" she yelled at him. It was loud enough that there was a minor clatter over at the poor guy babysitting the cafeteria overnight. The guy chopping fruit up for the next morning to sell in little over-priced cups of so-called 'fruit salad'. She'd likely startled him. Hopefully he hadn't chopped off a finger in the process.

"I know you feel that way," was all Voight allowed flatly.

She let out an annoyed sound, shaking her head hard at him and then staring off over at some wall – at more likely nothing – while she fumed.

"You're the one who told me to take it," she muttered.

"Don't go rewriting history," he said.

Her eyes snapped to him. "You said not to look back."

He nodded. "Because that kind of decision, this kind of gig – you can't be. You shouldn't be. Shouldn't be here. It's not good for you. Not good for your case. And isn't really good for anyone here either right now."

Her eyes glassed a bit. Could see that lower lip tremble. Could see the shiver in her face –that little twitch – as she struggled to control it. To hide it.

"He's my baby brother," she croaked out.

Voight allowed her a little nod and sat back a bit. "Glad to hear you still feel that way."

Her eyes watered a bit more and that lip trembled. He could tell she wanted to press him more on that statement. To argue with him. But could also tell her didn't have it in her. The word choice said enough. Got his point across. She could read between the lines later. Process later. And come back to him for greater discussion at a more appropriate time. Not now.

"He kicked me out of the room," she finally managed.

"He's scared," Voight told her – again. "He's hurting and he's confused."

"He told me not to come back," she pressed out and that time her voice did crack.

"He's angry, Erin," he said. "He has a right to be."

"It's not like …," she shook her head and set her eyes on that wall again. "You, Justin. You've left him before. This is only a few months."

"Erin," he called at her and he waited. Waited a long time – just stared at her – until she decided to look at him again. "You aren't me. You aren't Justin. He had you on a different pedestal. We've done a real good job at keeping him sheltered from a lot of your banana peels and fuck-ups. He just is getting to realize that you're fallible too. You hurt him, you abandoned him – just like me, just like his brother. You've fallen off the pedestal and climbing back up on it is something that's going to take time and work. And even if you—"

"If," she croaked at him again. He could tell she'd meant to spit it at him. But it hadn't come out that way. It came out broken.

"When," he allowed himself to correct. Him and E had done a whole lot of talking about how losing J while Magoo was still angry with him hadn't done anything to help the grieving process. That their fractured and frayed relationship wasn't something that E wanted to repeat – wanted to have with his sister. But it takes time to forgive and forget – especially when you're just a kid. Seems like water moving under those bridges takes a bit longer. More of a dam it all needs to get through in the teen years. But he'd try to help both his kids – E and Erin – get there. When they were ready for that. But that wasn't right now. The time wasn't right for anyone in this mix up. "When you get up there again – you're going to have to accept, your relationship with him isn't going to be the same."

He saw her suck on a lump in her throat. To try to gulp it down. To still try to compose herself. So she went back to staring off at that wall in a different direction again.

"So you just aren't going to be around tomorrow for his plasma exchange?" she finally near whispered.

"Meeting's first thing," he said. "Won't be hooked up until I get back."

"I can stay with him," Erin said. "In case the Ivory Tower is dragging its heels."

"Got company sorted for him while I'm out and would appreciate if you gave the room a good read before you set yourself down at his bedside. He's worked up enough. Don't need him getting more agitated."

A sadder sigh slipped out of her and she slouched down in the chair again. Real low. She stared at the table now. So Voight put the key on it and pushed it across until it was in her line of sight and she glanced up at him, question written across your face.

"You planning on doing anything tomorrow, think you should go get some shut eye," he said.

The arms crossed tighter and the question on her face turned into a glare. "I've got my own place," she hissed.

"Mmm …," he allowed.

The glare got firmer. "You and Ethan are acting like Jay and I have split up," she pressed harder. He could tell she was trying to sound pissed off. And maybe she did. But not at him. At herself.

Instead he just leaned across the table more and pushed the key a bit closer to her. "Did enough undercover early on in my marriage to know that sometimes it takes a few nights of sleeping on the couch and bedding down on the District racks before you end up in your own bed. And know that right now it looks like you could use some real sleep in a real bed. So take the key, go home – and get some rest."

"Don't do that," she growled.

"Erin," he nodded at her. "You need some sleep so you come out of this with your head on straight."

"Don't try to act like you know what's best for me," she spit. "Don't talk to me like—"

"I'm talking to you like a father who's—"

"Don't do that either," she pressed harder. Her eyes were just flickering with the angry and the exhaustion and the frustration and the tears she was trying to not let him see. "You aren't my father. Unless you've decided you're finally going to—"

He let out his own annoyed sound and sat back in his, folding his hands against his abdomen. "Really hope that's not what you're going to make this all about."

"It is what it's about," she glared at him. "Isn't it? It's why I had to pick you are Bunny."

"Erin," he nodded at her. "You needed to pick a side because I was fucking sick of watching her play you. I've told you that woman needed to be cut from your life—"

"She's my mom," she hissed again.

He shook his head at her. "No," he said and sat there for a long beat keeping her eyes. "She's your mother. She is not a mom. A mom doesn't consistently use and manipulate their child like a little pawn in scheme after scheme. Bunny is a con artist and she's played you—"

"And you don't? Like being your C.I. and being 'Voight's girl' and your fucking babysitter for Ethan and moving bodies for you isn't being part of your fucking chessboard too."

He just smacked at her. Kept the eye contact. So fucking much he could say about that. About family and children and parenting and siblings and roles. About rights and privileges and responsibilities that came with being a member of a household and a family. About all the sacrifices him and Camille made for their kids to try to ensure they had every opportunity in life they could provide them. To ensure the basic necessities and a good education and love and care and memories. That for all their fucking failings as parents – for his own failings, because his wife was far better at it than him – they'd sure as fuck tried. And they didn't hope the things they did – the sacrifices they made or the hardships they endured – in their kids' faces. Because that was all just part of being parents and raising a family.

He could've gone into how Erin's choices didn't just affect the family she had – it'd affected the family she'd been making. That even if he frowned on her and Halstead's dynamics – relationships – in the bullpen, even if he was fucking sick of the prolonged engagement and the two of them checking out on him for the past months, that even if he wished that one of them would just fucking transfer out – to the right fucking thing – this hadn't been the way he wanted it to play. Because the choice she'd made had now derailed what she had with Jay too. He didn't think she fully appreciated how long it took you to recovery personally after a prolonged U.C. assignment. How that separation and the person who eventually came home – if they got to come home or stay very long – affected a relationship. How long it took to mend those kinds of bridges. If they ever could really be. And Jay was a good man. A good cop. A good person. And he was good to his daughter. And now he was pretty much another pendant on Erin's string of broken hearts. Which was one thing when your daughter is a teenager. It's a whole other when she's in her thirties and engaged and you'd been (knew they'd been too) expecting a wedding – or at least a marriage certificate – and grandkids in the foreseeable future.

He could've told her how Erin's choices didn't make much sense. How she'd swung from not wanting Bunny to get away with anything to not caring what Bunny had done. Where maybe if he'd told her or if he'd just let Bunny burn at the stake – send her away, like she should've been long ago – it might've been better. Only it wouldn't have. Because Erin had been letting herself play this game – Bunny's game – since she was at least sixteen years old. Hell, more like it'd been her whole life. And it'd only gotten worse since November. Like fucking badminton birdie back-and-forth over the net.

That ultimately her decision – just reminded him a whole hell of a lot of Bunny. That she'd once again let Bunny win and fallen on a stake for her. And by picking her – she'd let down a whole lot of people. Her family. Not just at home. Not just Jay or him or Ethan or Henry. That she'd let down and hurt people at work too. Friends and colleagues who'd fought for her. Who still would've fought for her if she decided to stay and see just what the Ivory Tower decided to do with her. Or with Intelligence.

Even if that meant they went at her with barrels blaring to gun her down. They would've given her some cover. Given her a bit of a human shield. And if her or Intelligence had to take a hit because of it – there would've been people who would've gotten into the line of fire with her to help deflect some of the bullets. Some people who even would've climbed up on the stake with her too. And even if she did get to be another one of CPD's sacrificial lambs for a fucking bogus police brutality charge when they had a lot more pressing ones to be going after – real sickness in their police force and their city – as a family they would've figured it out together too. At home.

And she would've had him and Jay and her little brother and her baby nephew there to help distract her and get her through the coming months. A baby brother and little nephew you needed her there and would've been happy to have some extra time with her despite the reasoning behind it.

"You are tired—", was all he said, though, and all he managed to get out before she seethed at him again.

"Stop saying that."

He stared at her again. "Erin," he nodded at her firmly. "I need you to listen to me right now. You are overtired. You are over emotional. What you need to do, is go home, get some sleep and tomorrow we'll have a father-daught—" '… er talk as adults.' But he didn't get to say that.

"Stop saying that too," she said. "Unless you're ready to—"

"Erin," he sighed and reached to scrub at his face.

At least it stopped her. Gave him a moment to regroup himself. To process for himself just how much Bunny's latest plays – the months of mental and emotional mayhem she'd been tossing at Erin when his girl was finally starting to get her life in order and grow up and move on – had fucked her up. How much all of that had played into whatever the fuck this decision was – the side she'd picked, the fork she'd gone down. And why. Just why the fuck she'd done that. Who she was trying to punish now – besides herself. What demons she was trying to fucking appease. Then he looked at her.

"Fatherhood. Same as my opinion on motherhood. Anyone can end up a father. Dad is different. I'm the guy who raised you. You are my girl. I love you. I care about you. I try my fucking best to have your best interests at heart. Try to give you as many opportunities in life as I can manage. I'm you're dad. I'm not your father."

"Bunny said—"

"Erin," he pressed at her again. "She's been playing this game with you since November. It's fucked with your head. It's got to stop. You've got to put this baggage down. You've got to accept that you're likely never going to know. But you do have a family, a home and people who love and care about you. That's got to be enough. It's more than some people have."

"She said you had a night," she put back to him blindly – not taking any time to process what he'd said.

He allowed a grunt and shook his head for a moment, gazing off in his own opposite direction before finding her eyes again.

"You really think that if Bunny thought I was your father – if Bunny had any idea who was actually your father – she wouldn't be gouging them for every cent she could get?"

"So you had a night," was all she got out of that comment.

He grunted. "Oh, Bunny and I had a night. More than one. But pretty sure I know which one she's playing you with right now. And that night. That was Bunny drunk and coked off her head and me walking her out of that situation before she really did get raped. What other fantasy she's created for herself out of whatever fog she managed to come to in. I got her out of there. I got her in the car. Which she puked all over. And herself. So I took her home. I got her cleaned up, changed. And into bed. And I stayed with her to make sure she didn't go choking on any more of her own vomit."

Erin just stared at him. Like she was actually trying to process that. But all the gears weren't turning. She was on a bit too much information overload.

"Erin," he put to her flatly. "I've done some things over my career that I'm not particularly proud of. Made choices in my personal life, my private life that maybe weren't the best in retrospect. I wasn't always the best husband. Or the best father. But stepping out on my wife – that's not on the list of things I've done wrong. And if you still can't hear me or believe me on that, if what you need for me to do to put this to rest in your mind is for me to spit in a tube – then fine. We'll go get the test done. But I don't think the results are going to answer any of your questions or make any of this easier for anyone. And I don't need some shared DNA sequence to tell me you're my kid. Wish you didn't either."

He reached and nudged the key one more time a bit closer to her.

"Just in case you lost yours. In case things aren't too comfortable at home tonight – remember you've still got another home. Always will," he said.

Voight stood her eyes following him, as he shoved his hands into his pockets.

"Happy to talk to my daughter when she shows up," he said. "Shoot me a text if she does. Work through a bit more where she's at, what she needs. Talk some about her little brother when she's thinking a bit straighter."

And with that he turned to get back up to his boy. Turned away from her – and he didn't look back. Not that night. Couldn't.

 **AUTHOR NOTE: Your readership, comments, reviews and feedback are always appreciated.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Title: The Way From Here**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Erin must deal with the consequences of her decision to take a position in FBI counter-intelligence at the expense of her relationship with Jay and her relationship with her family. But an emergency with her younger brother provides her with the opportunity to re-examine her choices and to try to rectify any damages to her relationships. This story takes place in the AU established in Interesting Dynamics.**

 **SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers in this collection from Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas, Scenes, Aftermath and So It Goes (including chapters/scenes in So It Goes that have not yet been written or posted). This series also contains SPOILERS related to the finale of Season 4 of Chicago PD.**

 ******WARNING: THIS CHAPTER IS A MILD M FOR SEXUAL CONTENT. ******

Erin lay against Jay's shoulder. She'd normally would place her head lower – on his chest, against his heart. Normally, his hand would be lower too. That he'd be playing his fingers down her spine or in circles on her hip or tracing across the side of her thigh. Not the loose clutch he had on her shoulder that night. A position she thought had more to do with keeping his arm from falling asleep than him trying to hold her close. But nothing had really been normal that night.

They probably shouldn't have had sex. She knew that now. Or at least that's where her head was going as she lay against him processing and trying to figure out where his head was at as he stared blankly at the ceiling above.

She should've known it would turn out that way. Them laying there. Not talking. And maybe she had. Maybe she didn't care. Maybe he hadn't either. Because they really hadn't done any talking. At all.

She got home – or to the townhouse, she wasn't sure if it was home or if it even felt like home right now; it actually felt kind of foreign. He was there. In front of his flatscreen. Working on a beer. Watching the news that he turned off when she came in but she really wished he hadn't. She really wished he'd left it on and given her something to stare at. But that hadn't stopped her from staring at the blank screen anyway.

She'd give him that he'd asked if she wanted to talk about it. Not them. Not the job. Not the case. Not the FBI. She knew that wasn't what he was asking. If she wanted to talk about Ethan. If she wanted to talk about how it went at the hospital. But she suspected he had a pretty good idea of how it'd gone – or hadn't – and how she was feeling right in that moment. And she really hadn't wanted to talk anyway. At all. Because she didn't know where to start with that. Any of it. How to process it. Or the fear and the guilt and the utter sadness that she was feeling that was stinging in a way she wasn't prepared for. This fucking hurt that almost felt more agonizing than when they'd lost Camille. Then when she'd found the brother she'd been raised with with a gunshot wound in his head stuffed in the trunk of a car, left to die. She somehow felt like – now – she was slowly bleeding out too and she couldn't figure out where the bullet was or where to put the pressure. She did know she felt drained. In so many fucking ways.

He'd stood from the couch then. He'd moved toward her. He'd asked if she wanted something to drink. If she'd eaten. He'd stood in front of her – stared at her – when he'd asked that. There was sincerity in his eyes when he'd asked it. Genuine concern despite the sadness she could see radiating off him too. A sadness – a hurt - that she knew might include what Eth was going through in it – but it was more about what she was putting him … them … through. What their relationship was – or wasn't – in that moment. But there he was – still trying to … take care of her. Look out for her. Even when his annoyance – his anger and just how … pissed off he was at her – was bubbling pretty close to the surface too.

But she wasn't thirsty – as much as she did want to start in on a bottle and to try to just fade away from all of this. And she didn't have an appetite. What she needed – what she wanted – was just some kind of comfort. Some kind of touch. So she'd kissed him. She'd leaned into his space and he hadn't backed away. He hadn't stopped it. He'd positioned himself to let her – to meet her halfway. He'd kissed back.

And there hadn't been anymore talk. No discussion. About where they were or what they needed or what they wanted out of any of it. There was just an unspoken agreement that they were headed up to the bedroom and into bed.

And that had about been where the kissing had stopped too.

It'd been … very basic sex. Just sex. It wasn't an anger fuck. It wasn't make-up sex. And it didn't seem like a one-last-time round. It was literally just sex.

This unspoken acknowledgement too that this was their window of opportunity and if they didn't take it that it might be a while before they had it again and who knew what things would be like – where'd they be at – when the next window appeared. If it did. So it was just this basic release. This meeting of some primal need. But it hadn't really been what she needed. And she didn't think it had been what he needed either.

It wasn't good. It'd felt all wrong. For them. From the moment they were in bed. It just didn't feel like them. It didn't feel like the routines they'd established. Or the way they were with each other. Before. It felt forced. And maybe it was.

They probably should've just stopped. She probably should've told him to stop. Because he wasn't him and this wasn't them. But she hadn't.

She hadn't when he'd stopped and gotten up without explanation only to come back with a condom from somewhere. The closet or the bathroom. Not the nightstand drawer. And she'd watched him put it on while her head churned to try to remember if they'd had any left in their stockpile when they'd decided to stop using them or if he'd gone out and got more for some reason. In the past six weeks.

Even after he was in her, her head wasn't there. It was still labelling the condom use. Something that before she might've taken as him being respectful and protecting her and them. Just being smart. Because now wasn't the time to have some slip up. But somehow instead she found herself reading deeper into it. That he didn't trust her to be responsible enough and organized enough on this undercover to be managing her birth control on her own outside of her routine and home base. That he wasn't going to take any risks – not to protect her or her career, but because he didn't want that baggage right now either. Or worse, he didn't trust what she'd been up to the past six weeks and who'd she'd been with – and was literally protecting himself.

She had to repeatedly push it to the back of her mind. To focus on where she was at and who she was with and what they were doing. To try to get something from it. But that had been hard too. Because she wasn't getting the comfort or the contact she was so craving. She didn't even get the primal want and need out of it either.

Jay was usually bordering annoyingly diligent in making sure sex was a shared and equal experience. To the point she sometimes had to tell him that on a particular night she didn't care if she came (or came first) or that for whatever reason it just wasn't going to happen that night.

But that night – it hadn't happened. Not before. Not after. Because she didn't think Jay had even tried. Or at least he hadn't gone through his usual motions or techniques. And she hadn't even gotten the physical contact or positioning to nudge it toward being in the realm of possibility.

It was like he hadn't wanted to be too close to her. He'd stayed propped on his knees and without putting any of his weight on her. He was in her but she wasn't getting any skin-to-skin contact. To feel him and smell him and to have that comfort of his weight and strength above her and against her. And he hadn't even bothered to use his hands in his usual explorations – her thighs, between her legs, her stomach, her breasts, her neck. He'd just held at her one hand while she held at his one thigh. His eyes set more at his movements – at the only place they had any negligible connection – than his usual push for eye contact.

He'd leaned forward – over her – and kissed her at one point. She'd thought it might be a turn in the tides. Their primal connection getting them to actually connect. But it was like after barely connecting with her mouth, he'd realized he'd let himself – his body – do that. And he'd rose away from her. Even though she'd followed until he was too far out of reach.

She could feel him growing more fatigued and frustrated. It was apparent in his movements. It was apparent in the look on his face that she'd call more a scowl than any kind of arousal. So she'd eventually gotten to be closer to him. But only because he must've decided he was going to cum no matter what and that he wasn't going to achieve it in that position. But even when he did shift and let himself come closer to her there'd been nothing normal about it. For them. Nothing nice. Nothing comforting. Instead he had his eyes fixed somewhere at the side of her head – staring at the sheets. And she'd felt like little more than some vessel as he moved against her.

She could tell he was struggling. It'd be hard not to. She didn't think either of them was getting enough out of it for it to be remotely satisfying in anyway. She could tell his head wasn't there either. Not in a way to get anything out of it.

And she should've again told him she wanted to stop. Because that wasn't them. She didn't think they'd ever just had sex. Not sex purely for the sake of orgasm. Even when one or both of them was just as horny as fuck and the objective was to get-off there'd always been more to it than that. Because of their relationship. Because of the kind of relationship they had. Because they were friends. They were partners. They cared about each other. They loved each other.

And sex purely for orgasm - treating another person purely as an instrument to that outcome – that was their previous selves. People they were supposed to be better than now. People they were supposed to be better than with each other. Even if this was going to be the last time they had sex for a long time. If. She hoped it wasn't. Or maybe based on this – she hoped it was. She hoped that … needed, wanted … for them to figure out how to move beyond just having sex. For them to figure out how to get back to making love. To figure out how to take care of each other – that way – again.

And something about that had shifted her a bit. Put her mind back in it – who she was with, what they were doing – again. To focus on the important things. To acknowledge that before – in their previous life, their previous relationship – that if Jay was struggling on any given night they … he … would've stopped long before this. They wouldn't have gotten this far. That previously him struggling with presence and his climax would've been about … a case, fatigue, his PTSD – both from Afghanistan and from growing up. But she knew that night it wasn't. It was about her. It was about them. Or more accurately what she'd put – was putting – them through.

That for whatever unspoken reason Jay wasn't stopping. He wasn't giving up. He needed that orgasm. And part of her suspected he needed it to prove to himself that something was still there. That they could still figure out how to make any of this work. That it could be fixed. That it was still worth fighting for. And he was fighting. It was dripping off him in his frustrated tension and his jerky movements that had lost any sense of his usual rhythm.

So despite how uncomfortable she felt. Despite how much this didn't feel like them. How much she just wanted to tell him to stop. To give up. That it wasn't going to work. She didn't.

She spread herself wider for him and repositioned her legs and the angle they'd settled into with his weight and fatigue. She let him have more access. And she forced herself to participate – even though she wasn't sure she wanted to at that point and she didn't get the impression he wanted her to. But she also got the impression that it was what he needed.

She pulled her hand away from his. She wrapped her arms around him. She ran her nails up his back and then against his scalp. She turned her head. She offered him whispered assurances that he was fine and to take his time. To breath. To calm down. She kissed at his earlobe and his neck and his jaw line. She pulled his hips forward and held them tightly while he found – rediscovered – the angle and depth and rhythm that felt good to them. And then she wrapped her legs high around his waist and let herself feel how his thrusts rocked her body against the mattress. Let herself feel the soft, sweaty skin on his stomach and pressed against hers only for it to separate and stick there again. She let herself feel and hear his breathing against her neck. Let her lips rest lightly against his ear so she could feel his urgent pulse. And as she finally felt the tell-tale changes in his thrusts and catch in his breathing – that six weeks did nothing to pull from her consciousness – she ran her fingers through the short hair on the beck of his neck with one hand, as she stroked his cheek with her other.

And she held onto him for those few moments he allowed himself to come down. To catch his breath. She held onto him so tightly. To them. But it only lasted seconds before he pulled away. Before he rolled away. Before he sat on the edge of the bed with the tissues and focused on his crotch. Before he got up to toss the wadded mess into the trash can. To get a glass of water in the bathroom.

But he came back. He brought her a glass. And a warm, damp washcloth.

And he got back in bed next to her.

He let her lean against him. His shoulder. He let his hand come up and clutch her shoulder. He let them share space. He let them not talk. He let himself stare at the ceiling. And her stare across the room at the big window in the master bedroom that she was almost certain Jay hadn't opened since she'd been gone.

So they were in darkness – no the usual streaks of street light that she preferred to let peek into the room from between the blinds. But maybe darkness was where they needed to be in that moment. Maybe that was their new normal. Or it was just the hole she was currently in. But maybe she needed that dark – that silence – to try to process. To try to figure out if they could ever be normal now. Or if she'd fucked it all up again. To try to decide if they should or shouldn't have had sex – even though the act had already been done.

And even though it hadn't been normal. For them. That it hadn't been what she wanted or needed. Maybe it was exactly that. For both of them.

 **AUTHOR NOTE: Your readership, comments, reviews and feedback are appreciated. There should hopefully be another chapter or two within the next 3-10 days.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Title: The Way From Here**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Erin must deal with the consequences of her decision to take a position in FBI counter-intelligence at the expense of her relationship with Jay and her relationship with her family. But an emergency with her younger brother provides her with the opportunity to re-examine her choices and to try to rectify any damages to her relationships. This story takes place in the AU established in Interesting Dynamics.**

 **SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers in this collection from Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas, Scenes, Aftermath and So It Goes (including chapters/scenes in So It Goes that have not yet been written or posted). This series also contains SPOILERS related to the finale of Season 4 of Chicago PD.**

"What's he doing?" Erin asked, dragging Jay out of his attempt to think about nothing. To zone out. It hadn't really been working. Though, apparently it'd been working while enough that it took him a moment to realize what she was asking about was the noise Will was making down in the kitchen.

He supposed he'd gotten used to hearing Will move around the place – and all the extra noise and the extra mess that went along with it – that he mostly just tuned it out. He kind of had to. Or else he'd always be fighting with his brother too. More than they already did. And he really was just at the point he didn't fucking feel like having any excess fighting – conflict – in his personal life. The bullshit with Erin – with her absence, with their existent-non-existent relationship at the moment – was enough. Even in her fucking absence – it was enough. Add in the daily conflict that made up life on the job – and when he was home, when he had downtime – he just really fucking wanted to zone. But that was hard. He still didn't quite know how to calm his mind that way. Not with less than ideal methods to help create that numbness.

He supposed that was part of the reason he was still letting Will crash there. Still putting up with him – and his own level of personal bullshit. Because at least it kept him out of the zone enough that it provided some sort of minor safety net (as much as Will ever really provided one) from getting himself into something stupid. Something that would impact all the work he'd done to try to … be better. Though, these days some times it took fucking extra reminders about why he was trying to be better – a better man, a better cop, a better friend. Because he wasn't sure being a better boyfriend, fiancée and husband – a future father – was on the list anymore. And that'd been part of the motivation. Some of the reason he was trying to … deal … with a lot of shit he'd been trying to sweep under the carpet for years. Just trying to ignore. Trying to be better than. Trying to be stronger than. But being stronger than all that just took a whole lot of energy – to keep contained. Energy – outlets – that he'd rather be pouring into other things.

So Jay just shrugged under her – and used the opportunity to manoeuvre his arm out from under her too. It'd long ago fallen asleep in the awkward angle and under the weight of her.

He hadn't wanted to risk disturbing her. She'd been so quiet he'd thought she was going to let herself sleep. But every time he glanced down at her from his ceiling-top stare, she was still doing her own blank stare across the room.

He didn't like that stare. He'd seen it in her before. This fixed look. That empty one that Nadia had talked about. The one where you shut the light out in your eyes. The one where you knew something pretty shitty had happened in that person's life to be able to extinguish the flame in quite that way.

He knew the stare. He saw it looking back at him in the mirror sometimes. He'd done a good job at practicing it. For years. Though, he thought some of the light – it'd come back on. For him. That there were even times he was surprised to see it peeking out. That it'd gotten strong enough that it could get out from behind the walls he'd spent so long building. But it had. And he sort of thought it had in Erin too.

She'd always had a twinkle. For as long as he'd known her. Likely another fucking testament to Voight – that for all the things he was that Jay disapproved of, that he'd also pulled Erin into a life and a family that had cranked up the gas on that Bunsen Burner again. Got the flame sparking in this sassy way that you had to hop back from sometimes to keep from getting your fingers seared. But that was the way she liked it. He'd thought it was the way he liked it too. Even though he still knew the darkness could creep into her.

That hadn't bothered him. Before. It was like … being with someone with a bit of darkness in them was easier. Because … she got it on some level. A level where he didn't have to go explaining himself all the time. Where he didn't have to make excuses or lies that he'd ultimately just get sick of making – because he wasn't that kind of person – so he'd just cut himself off and isolate himself more. From that person. From people. From society.

And as much as he had done that – in some ways – with Erin. He also hadn't. He'd given her a lot of himself. But maybe not enough. Clearly not enough. Because she'd left. Though, part of him thought he should just listen to Will's words – the ones that he kept repeating to him over and over: "That girl does not want to be saved."

A fucking comment that Jay hated hearing. That he hated more that Will had turned it into some sort of mantra like by becoming a broken record player it was going to make getting through this – hump … if it was that – any easier. But it didn't make it easier. Because it just made him think about what that comment said about Erin. And what it said about himself.

About what it meant about the how and why he'd been attracted to Erin. About the how and why he'd let himself get so wrapped up in her fucked up family life. About the how and why he'd gotten so attached to Eth. About the how and why he did the job he did. About all his other relationships. About who and what he was. And just sent him spiralling back into the how and why of all of that too. Moments and memories and baggage – and fucking triggers – he just didn't want to go wading near.

And this fucking realization that maybe he'd just forced himself on Erin. Repeatedly. He had that night. In a way. And maybe that was part of the zone out too. Because his skin was crawling because of it. He was kind of trying to forget it'd happened. But he'd just needed to … make it fucking working. To save the relationship just like he'd somehow been trying to save Erin for the past four years – whether he'd realized it or not at the time. So he kept going and going. That night – and for the past four years.

It was him who kept running at her. Him who kept making the plays. Him who kept trying to push things forward. To make the relationship more real. To try to be a rock in her life. To be someone she could trust and depend on. And he'd told himself at first that was what partners did. That's the kind of person you needed to have your back on the job. That you went down together fighting. That you stop by each other. That you didn't go into situations without fucking back-up.

But Erin did. Over and over again. She'd repeatedly made it clear that she didn't think she needed back-up. Or at least not his. Or at least that she didn't think it was worth it. She didn't want people to see her – the way he saw her. She just … didn't want people to know she had her weaknesses. That she was vulnerable. That she was hurt and broken in her own ways.

And he got that. Because he didn't want people to see those sides of him either. But she'd seen them. Whether he'd liked that or not. And he'd seen hers. Just like he was seeing that stare in her now. That broken and faraway look that he knew he was a part of. And he wondered how much of it he'd brought on. By fucking her like he'd never fucked her before. By not saving her while trying to save her. To save them. That he hadn't embraced the distance like Will had told him. To take that distance. To use it. And maybe he should've. But he'd fucking failed at doing that too. Again.

He really wasn't sure for this commentary from Will about his need to save people – how much water it held. Because Jay wasn't sure he'd ever saved much of anyone. No matter how hard he tried. He sure as fuck had a lot more kill shots to his name than fucking Medals of Valor. That he sure had a lot more people – faces, looks in those eyes – of those left behind then he did of the family and friends of loved ones he'd ever done much to save.

He wasn't anyone's hero.

"Getting something to eat," he suggested passively – because that was easier than talking about any of this. Just like it was easier to try to shake it all off – like he shook his arm above his head a bit to try to get the blood flowing again. To try to get the tingle of pins and needles to come out of it. The sting of all this.

But he saw her glance up at it – almost like she missed it or that she took a move as a sign that he was pulling away. The look on her face. So Jay let it settle back down to where it'd been – though in a slightly different position, at a slightly better angle, and with slightly less of her body weight baring into it.

He could likely at least partially resolve the issue all together if he just let himself spoon with her. If he let himself roll to his side and waited for her to do the same and press against him. If he tucked that sleeping arm behind his head for a bit rather than under her. If he held her with his other arm.

But he wasn't sure she really wanted his crotch shoved up against her ass. He wasn't sure that she'd actually roll to her side and let herself settle against him that way. And he didn't want her not returning the gesture – the offer – to send his mind off in other directions. Because he was already wondering if he'd been too rough with her. That it'd likely been rougher than he'd ever been with her. At least for a long time. Since she'd pointed out that he could be a little aggressive in his need for dominance in bed. That she didn't like it. And he'd consciously toned it down. Because he didn't want to be that way with her. He wanted to be better than that.

And Jay wasn't sure he had been better than that that night. And he found himself wondering if he hurt her. He didn't think he'd hurt her physically. But he was pretty sure he'd hurt her. And that bothered him too. He didn't like being on the list of people who did that to her. And it made him wonder if she was laying there thinking that he had been trying to punish her in some way. If he way trying to punish her now by not spooning. By moving his arm.

But somehow that all just felt too intimate right then. Spooning. Holding each other. Just too fucking intimate when they apparently weren't talking. Because they hadn't been. And he wasn't sure he wanted to. Because he still couldn't figure out what he could say to her that wouldn't led to a fight. That wouldn't leave one or both of them upset and frustrated.

But he was already both. And it was taking a lot to … hold that in.

He kept having to reel himself back to keep from ripping into her. To lecture her about how she should've fucking gotten in front of this. Before it all went to shit. About how she always fucking did this. She'd let herself get too personally involved and too personally invested – let herself get backed into a fucking corner and then she'd go off like she was Voight. Go off the fucking leash. But she didn't know how to lie and clean up the messes – to play the fucking game – in quite the same way as he did. She didn't have the same kinds of connections. She hadn't been around long enough.

And rather than doing what Voight fucking said – tell him the truth so he could lie for them – she just usually went digging herself a bigger hole rather than ask for help. She'd walk right into the fucking booby traps even when she knew they were there. And she should always fucking know a booby trap was there when Bunny was involved. Should always know that some were being set when the Ivory Tower started doing their investigation. When IAD was looking at you. But she still kept walking forward – right into the fucking mess, the line of fire - because she wanted to prove she was independent and didn't need anyone. That she could take care of herself.

Only that always seemed to blow up in her face. So her fucking solution was to just run away. Over and over again. Run away – quit, hand in her badge – and just jump right into that hole she'd dug for herself. To hang out down there and make the whole situation worse for everyone around her. To be a martyr when she didn't need to be. When she made herself the martyr for people who didn't deserve it. Like hanging up on that stake got her off somehow. The pain and the disappointment. Like those were the only emotions she felt she deserved. Or maybe the only emotions she felt equipped to deal with. Like any other emotion – happiness, contentment – was just too fucking confusing and overwhelming for her to cope with. Even after her own fucking years of therapy. Of counselling.

In way she was at least right about her whole "hurt everyone around me" thing. Because she sure fucking did.

Because she wouldn't listen to the people's opinions that mattered. Because she wouldn't take help. Because she still placed Bunny ahead of the rest of them. Because she cut them off and torn them down – and refused to fucking listen – when they held a different opinion than hers. Because she hated to admit she was wrong and preferred to go charging blindly down the path she was on. Stumbling in the fucking dark. Looking for those holes and slipping on those banana peels.

And this time it just didn't feel as fixable. But maybe that was because she wasn't at rock bottom yet. Though, maybe she was getting there. But Jay wasn't sure how much he'd had left of himself by the time she did get there. How much he'd be able to bounce back to be able to reach down and try to pull her out. How he was questioning if he should even pull her out.

Because maybe it was like Will said. That he was always trying to save people. How he'd spent the whole relationship trying to save Erin. When maybe things would've been better for both of them if he just hadn't bothered. If he'd saved both of them by minding his own fucking business. By not trying to get her to be something – or someone – she wasn't. But he believed she was more than this. More than what she became when she went charging back toward her past and her so-called mother and jumped right on one of those banana peels that just sent her fucking sliding into one of those bobby traps.

And even if she wasn't better than that – she made him better than who he was. A better cop. A better man. A better fucking person. And maybe that was what this was all about. He wanted to be better. He needed to be. And it was really fucking hard to maintain that – now – with her gone. And there was a big part of him that hated that too. That he'd become that dependent on her – on their relationship. Just the fucking stability – even though it was fucking unstable. But there was normalcy too – even though there was nothing about it – now – that felt that fucking normal to him. Not the normal that he wanted.

So Jay was having trouble looking at her. Because she didn't look normal. Not the hair. Not the weight loss. Not her complexion. And not this fucking ink she'd gone and had etched into her body to the point he didn't even want it near him and had held it away from his body when they were having sex. As far away as he could. Because she didn't look like her. And he had trouble playing make-believe.

He didn't want to have to separate the details she'd established to sell her story from what was his reality. What was supposed to be their reality. From what details he was getting and what story he was getting. Then in that moment. And just how disbarring that was from their reality. What and where and who they were supposed to be that summer. That fall. What they'd been working toward. And now they weren't. So just how much of a lie he was getting in that moment. About their present. And her present. And what their future would – that he couldn't help but believe wouldn't, COULDN'T – look like now.

Because she was doing everything she could again to not look at him. To not get real with him. To no talk to him about what the fuck this was really all about. And it meant he could hardly look at what he saw too. He didn't want to. Because that woman that had gotten into his car at the O'Hare and the one he was in bed with that night wasn't the person he'd fallen in love with. It wasn't the person he was supposed to be engaged to. That he was supposed to be marrying. It wasn't the person he would marry. He knew that now. This wasn't Erin. And he was still trying to decide who it was. But he wasn't going to be able to do that right now. Not with how she was acting. Not with them not talking.

Not that talking would make a difference. Not when she'd made a habit out of shutting him down whenever they had to get real in their relationship. Or just shutting up. Looking away. Telling him she'd deal with it – and then never really did, not in a sustained and real way. Not when she'd made clear he wasn't allowed to have an opinion on Bunny. Not when she'd near rubbed in his face that it didn't matter they were engaged – that he didn't get to dictate her career. Her life. Which hadn't been what he was trying to do. But maybe he was. By trying to save her. But that wasn't what he was trying to do. He was trying to show her – to get her to understand – that jobs, bosses, they come and go but that he didn't want her to. That he wouldn't in her life. That he'd be there.

But right now – even with her here – it was hard to be there. Hard to want to be. Though, he supposed it at least felt good to get to hold her. A bit. That maybe it felt good to her too. Though, it all felt like it was going to be kind of short lived. Because it always was. Like the only time – and only way – she felt able to ask him for help and let him in was in those dark and quiet moments when they didn't have to quite look at each other and their failings could be whispered off into a dark corner rather than to the other person.

Jay didn't think they were going to reach that point that night, though. And he wasn't sure they would that trip. That she'd be gone in a couple days and he'd just be left with the pins-and-needles again. A reminder that she'd been there. Sort of like a phantom limb.

"He's talking to someone," Erin muttered at him.

"Maybe he's on the phone," Jay tried to evade getting into this.

It didn't work. She lifted her head and gave him an incredulous look. It must be at least 1 a.m. Probably closer to two.

"There's a woman down there," she said and cocked her head to listen. "Is it Natalie?"

Jay sighed and rubbed at his face. "I doubt it," he mumbled.

"Nina?" she squinted at him. He knew that she knew it wasn't Nina. Nina's voice was pretty unmistakable and even when she was trying to be quiet – she wasn't quiet. This person at least seemed aware that people might be sleeping upstairs.

"Erin, don't worry about it," he pressed at her. "It's not our business."

"It's our house," she pressed back at him. There was anger to it. But it'd almost been a feed line. To try to distract her and deflect her in her detective work.

Because Jay really didn't want to get into who Will likely had downstairs. Because Jay really didn't want to get into how incredibly awkward Erin had made multiple things at work – in the bullpen and in doing the job and having to interact with anyone their. He didn't want to say to her that her little exercise in parading Eth in front of Upton to make whatever point it was she was making to her now meant that Hailey seemed to have taken it upon herself every day since the kid had been in the hospital to ask how he was doing. He didn't want to tell her that Al seemed to like her and that Voight did too. Or that before Eth had ended up in the hospital and Voight was still managing the partnering he'd had to ride with her more than once. And how she kept trying to play nice in a way that made him want to knock out a few of her teeth. How doing a long-term undercover assignment – that she wouldn't give him any details on – made her career. So maybe it would Erin's too. Or how Ruzek had been trying to be buddy-buddy with him like they should establish some kind of Lonely Hearts Club in Intelligence (when it was pretty clear that him and Burgess were likely knocking boots again, though maybe a little more intelligently than last time). That the guy kept thinking that his reassurances that doing a U.C. gig had made things a whole lot clearer for him about where he wanted to be and who he wanted to be with and how he wanted to live his life and what he wanted to make of it. Like they were anything a like or had gone through shit that was remotely comparable. Or that his and Erin's relationship came anywhere near the joke of an engagement that Adam and Kim engaged it.

Jay just knew that that guy he didn't want to be. Those people that him and Erin talked about in private. That R-rated movie that she thought would only be PG-13 – because no one was really going to get hurt. Well, they were their own R-rate movie. People had definitely gotten hurt. And now they were the fucking conversational fodder for all of District. Only she wasn't there to have to see it. He was. All the looks and the whispers and the right out questions and condolences and unsolicited advice. And he fucking hated it. They could all go shove it up their asses. Only if he said that – he could likely kiss his job goodbye. And these days it felt like the job was once again that thread he was clinging to to keep his whole life – himself – from unravelling and going back to the booze and the violent videogames and the dark rooms and just the avoidance that he labelled as anger that really had more to do with depression and PTSD and confusion about how to fucking deal and still be a man about it – that he didn't want to admit.

"He's bringing women back to our house?" she pressed harder. "To where? Ethan's room?"

Jay let out a breath and stared above. "It's not like he's using it much right now," he said.

Though, he considered barking back that it was never Eth's room to begin with. That all the shit in that room was actually his. A space that his bed, his bookcases, his artwork had been regulated too because apparently pieces of himself were eyesores in the master bedroom and on the main floor. So he stuck with the hard truth – that Erin might miss. That 'right now' wasn't just this past week or so with the kid in the hospital. 'Right now' was since she left. Because her leaving had gone and made his relationship with Eth – and Voight and Voight as just Hank – fucking confusing and awkward too. For everyone. So, yeah, it wasn't like Eth was sleeping over multiple nights a week anymore. It wasn't like he was coming over asking for homework help. Or to play Star Wars Battlefront or Forza. Or using it as a decompression space when he'd fought with his dad. He wasn't dropping by when he was walking the dog. And when he did appear it all felt awkward and forced. Erin's motor-mouth of a no-filter little brother was playing mute. Because he didn't know what to say or how to act in any of this fucking mess she'd left either.

And she'd gone and done this – left this wake – right in a fucking disaster of a season for her family or for her brother. That it made things worse because now Jay didn't know how to act or interact with all this crap that Eth had stacked up. His Confirmation. His birthday. His ball practices and games and tournaments. His grad. His summer activities and appointments he was supposed to get to. And just the fucking additional support Jay knew the kid was going to need while they waded past the first summer with both his mother and his brother gone. And what his dad became around those time periods.

And maybe that was the cruse of it too. When you got down to it. That being in a relationship with Erin had given him a glimpse of what family was supposed to be like. As fucked up and abnormal and disaster-to-disaster as the Voights were – it felt a whole lot like a family. And Jay had come to like that. That added stability in his life. That added purpose. He'd liked it enough that he'd been ready to start making the time for family. For one of his own. To keep working at repairing his relationship with his brother. To actually go to see his father while he was in the hospital. To man up. But to also know that even if him and Erin didn't have kids of their own or if his relationship with Will and his dad pretty much stayed what it was and nothing more – that he'd still have family over on Erin's side. There'd still be some stability and normalcy and support. A safety net when you needed it – or were ready for it. And her decision just felt like she'd taken all that and fucked it up too. That she hadn't just severed her relationship with him. Hadn't made just it awkward and complicated. That she'd robbed what he'd had with her brother away too. She'd damaged the professional – and developing personal – relationship he'd had with Voight. And she'd done that to her little brother and her dad too. She'd just made it fucking harder for everyone.

"How much longer is he staying here?" she grumbled.

Jay shrugged. "Don't know. Haven't asked lately."

And she really shouldn't care. It wasn't like she was here to be annoyed by Will. It wasn't like they hadn't bent over backwards previously in accommodating her side of the family. That he still did – would – if Voight or Ethan asked something of him. Even if Olive did – for Henry.

And if she fucking cared at all – she should get that Will was part of the little bit of the scrap of the life boat Jay had right now. The one she'd gone and sent a torpedo through. That having a bit of company and someone around occasionally – to talk to a bit, as much as him and Will talked about anything – was about the only thing that was keeping him on the straight and narrow. That if he didn't know that Will would be coming home from shift too – or be there when he got home from his, or wondering where he was if he didn't show up for hours or days after shift – he'd likely be taking a dive into the deep end. That bar stools and the perennial case of beer in the fridge and the Xbox hooked up to the flatscreen and no one policing what he spent his money on or how he spent his 'free time' was providing a lot more options about how to spend it. Options that seemed less and less likely to include hours at the boxing gym and miles on his sneakers. Options that he was picking up more and more OT again – doing any shift he could get even if that meant putting on the blues and walking the beat, playing traffic cop at summer festivals and runs and crossing guard at sporting events, or just providing a community presence to try to keep their city from racking up a bigger shooting and murder tally than it already had for the year – to avoid falling into his old habits that seemed so appealing these days to try to get into the numb zone.

"He was only supposed to be here a couple weeks," she added. Because she didn't get it. Or she didn't want to. Or maybe she just didn't want to admit she got it at all. Because then she had to take some responsibility in all this too.

"How much longer is Olive going to be in the condo?" he put to her, drilling his eyes that way.

It got her to shut up. But she rolled away from him. Lay back on her back and stared at the ceiling too. She rubbed at her one eyebrow – and then the eye – a little sleepily.

"I don't know. I haven't asked lately," she put right back to him.

He just made a noise. It wasn't amused. But maybe it was. At least some of her was still somewhere in whatever this shell was that had gotten into his vehicle at O'Hare.

She rubbed at her eye again – like she had something in it. A good excuse.

"Has she given you money for July yet?" she asked, giving him a small glance.

"Not getting involved in that," Jay said and she cast him a look. "Told Voight to handle it. He's the other guarantor or whatever on your mortgage."

She made a noise. At his tone. Or at the fact he'd figured that out. Or maybe that he just didn't want to deal with the family politics of dealing with Olive's situation and the money situation and the Henry situation. Beyond that he was pretty sure that Voight was likely paying at least part of Olive's "rent" right now. Jay wasn't going to get involved in touching any money that had been laundered through Voight.

"Did the FBI get you the information for the account that got set up?" she asked instead.

"Yea, sure …" he allowed.

She looked at him a bit more firmly. "What's that mean?"

He met her eyes. "I got the details. I haven't done anything with it yet."

She stared. "Our mortgage is due on the—"

"I've been working OT," Jay said. "Will's contributing a bit for now."

"Jay …" she sighed.

But he just stared at the ceiling. His arm no longer around her and her no longer resting against him either. But she was resting on her elbow – staring down at him. Trying to read him, he knew. He just wasn't sure what he had sitting on the surface for her to read. He wanted to believe there wasn't much.

"I know you're mad," she finally said.

He made another noise and shifted his eyes to hers. "No kidding. I'm not sure mad quite captures it."

She made her own noise and shook her head, staring ahead for a moment and then gazing at him again.

"Then be … mad … whatever you are," Erin said. "But don't use that as a reason to blow your savings or lose the house. Like seventy-five percent of my pay check is going into that account. Use it."

He shook his head.

"Fine," she muttered and shifted back down onto her back. "Then sell the house, Jay. Because I'm not going to be responsible—"

"You haven't been responsible," he bit back at her. "And, yeah, Erin – if your 'only a few months' thing doesn't play out, you can be damn sure this place is going on the market in September."

Her head twisted to look at him. He didn't need to look at her to know her eyes were watering. He couldn't look at her anyway. If he let himself see that he'd get upset at himself for being the one who did that. But she needed to hear the truth. Even if this only was a 'few months' he wasn't sure this was salvageable. He wasn't sure he'd want to keep the house – to live with her – through the winter and into spring when the market was better.

She didn't say anything, though. She settled back and stared at the ceiling too. He could feel her arm still pressed against his but she felt so out of reach.

"Hank said he's taking Ethan to Shaw's on Tuesday," she whispered. Jay wasn't even sure it was to him. "If they let him out of the hospital for a few hours. Graduation dinner."

"Yeah … well … he's trying to get him to eat," Jay said. He didn't ask if the feeding tube had gone in that day or if he'd eaten voluntarily. He wasn't sure if he wanted to know. Because seeing adults who look like they're slowly dying in hospital beds is one thing. Seeing kids is another.

"It's …," she stopped. He thought that might be the end of it. That she'd reigned in whatever thought she'd had. But then she finally added, "… more of the kind of place that Hank would splurge on for … college grad, Academy."

Jay just made a sound of acknowledgement. He wasn't going to get into just how fucking scary those first 24-hours were after Eth's seizure. About the number of tests they'd put the kid through. About just how fucking … like a stroke victim … he'd seemed like in the glimpses he'd gotten. About how there'd been more seizures. About the blood pressure, heart rate, puking and kidney hell Eth had gone through as they tried to get things under control some IV steroid treatment that was outside his usual realm of options. How with all the shit they were pumping into him, Eth just looked like this beached seal in the bed. Bloated and macabre.

And how Jay would believe that in those first three or four days of tests and imaging and expert opinions and treatments not doing shit that Voight more than likely thought they were in a countdown to the end times. That with Voight barely forming sentences to him, Jay had pretty much felt the same way. That crab legs at Shaw's wasn't a graduation dinner. It was a last supper. Or at last a dangling fucking carrot to try to get Eth's eyes set on some kind of prize to push through. Even though Jay was pretty sure the kid would be too tired to go or even if he did, he wouldn't eat the cost in crab legs, and again, anything he did manage to get down the hatch would get puked right back up.

"Is he even really going to graduate if he's not doing summer school?" she put to him and then add with force despite the raised question at the end, "He can't do summer school now?"

Jay just shrugged. He thought it was pretty obvious that summer school wasn't going to be an option. Best case scenario, Eth was still going to be getting his treatment in-patient for another week. Could be closer to two. And that's if things didn't go to hell. Even if he did get home in a week or so, the kid was going to need time to recovery and bounce back. And his eye sight was never going to be the same. It was likely going to be months before they even had a real sense of what Eth's new "normal" was going to be for his vision. Sending the kid into the summer catch-up term like that just didn't make sense. Though, sometimes Voight made decisions that didn't make a whole lot of fucking sense.

"Hank's not really keeping me abreast of all the details and arrangements on that kind of stuff," Jay allowed.

It was an understatement. Hank was saying far less to him than he'd like. Far less than he thought he'd earned. They'd likely be in some kind of stress and anger inducing showdown if he didn't have Will looking up charts and reports he shouldn't be to at least explain to him a bit about what was going on. To give him some sort of assurances or explanations about the decisions Voight was making upstairs and just what the fucking doctors were putting Eth through. Attaching some numbers to the likelihood of any this working out in a positive way for the kid.

Jay had actually had to keep reminding himself that Hank had been the same way with Erin. That she had to fight to get information and to have a say and an opinion in any of the care and healthcare decisions the kid's dad was making. At least Voight was sort of giving him something. As much as his two to ten word sentences could explain any of this. And at least he was letting him visit Eth. Letting him enter the hospital room. That was something. Even if it was something in an awkward and uncomfortable situation that was now just all fucked-up with this added layer.

Erin processed that again. Her head tilting back his way. "Are you going to go on Tuesday?" she asked.

Jay shrugged. "Yea," he acknowledged. "I think I should be there."

And it wasn't just that he thought he should be there. He knew he should be there. That Eth needed and deserved that support. To know that he had people who were proud of him because making it through the year – and through middle school – hadn't been easy for him for a whole lot of reasons. But he'd pushed through. He'd done it. And he was going to need to keep doing that. Not just for high school but in life. And the kid needed to know he had people who still had his back in that. Who were rooting for him. Who believed in him. And who'd support him. They'd help him get through it. And he would get through it. He'd survive.

But it was more than that. It was also that Jay knew he deserved to be there. He believed that too. He was taking ownership in it. That he'd busted his ass that year to help with Grade Eight math and science homework. That he'd tolerated Eth's pre-teen antics and attitude. That he'd grown in his own ways as a person and as a man because of it. And he'd made his own sacrifices to be able to be there for the kid – to help him – in that way. So, yeah. He was going to go. He was going to celebrate that success. It wasn't just Eth's. It was theirs. He'd made his own steps forward to. And in some ways Eth had helped him in that. And that wasn't something he was going to just lose – take steps backwards from – by not showing up.

"Did you go to his Confirmation?" Erin asked. There was almost this weak plea in how she said it. Like she needed him to say yes. "His birthday?"

"Yea …," he allowed.

"Did they go okay?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Yea, I guess …"

Which wasn't an outright like but also wasn't exactly true. Not for him and maybe not for anyone.

But what was he supposed to tell her? That setting foot inside churches anymore really wasn't his thing. Especially Catholic ones. For their hypocritical pomp and ceremony. That he hadn't really wanted to go. But that it was still so soon after Erin leaving – so soon after that call that she was going under and was going to be out of touch for an unknown period of time – he thought he should. So he went. Because with Erin's family he'd learned that sometimes you just suck things up and you do it – because family. Period. And maybe then he was still clinging to the belief that this was somehow going to work out. That her departure would be short lived and that he'd still get to have a family with her. That he'd still get to be a part of a real family.

Or maybe he was supposed to tell her that Voight had taken them all out to Carmine's after the thing. That Al's wife looked more broken than Al did and that she'd just sat there staring at Eth. And staring at him until she finally whispered in a way that Jay was sure she hadn't even realized she'd spoken. But she had and she'd said plainly and simply, "He looks so much like Camille. Like Erin." And Voight had just grunted an acknowledgement. But Jay had seen his eyes get hit with a glassiness that he'd only seen the guy – advertently let any of them see – on a couple of other occasions. And how shortly after that he'd excused himself and gotten up and left the restaurant in a way that was a tell – beyond his voice – that he'd been a heavy smoker when he was younger. When he did his own undercover. When he worked his own connects out on street corners or in social clubs and backgrounds around the city. That Meredith had only then seemed to understand what she'd said and had kept apologizing. That Al had eventually gotten up from the table and gone to see – because jay doubted they really talked – Voight. That the rest of them had sat there picking at their meals that were growing cold. That they'd both eventually come back. But then both their eyes looked vacant as Jay's felt these days. As vacant as Erin's looked that night. Or more. Because it was a different vacant when someone you loved – when a child you raised (whether alive or dead) – was missing from the picture. From some event – milestone – that was supposed to be shared as a family.

Or maybe what she wanted to hear was that the week before Eth's birthday the kid had gotten notification that he'd been accepted into the Field's Bridge program. That the kid was so excited and so proud of himself. And he'd kept calling and calling and texting and texting and FaceTiming and FaceTiming Erin's phones and accounts she had and she never responded. How Jay had been making excuses for her until he had no more excuses. Because he got that voicemail that they wouldn't be hearing from her for a long while. And all that – it hadn't just been his heart she'd broken. That she'd shattered Ethan's because he'd so badly wanted to tell her.

She hadn't been there to hear. She hadn't been there to celebrate with him. To see the – to hear – the look on Hank's face and the pride in his voice that was so fucking apparent that even Jay could pick up on it without even trying. That his brain-damaged little boy, struggling with a progressive chronic illness, who'd they'd all just had to drag through Grade Eight had been accepted into a prominent museum program that at least put him on the course – started him slowly down a path - for good things to come. For a future that had opportunities. That directed him toward an education and a career, even for the bits and pieces Jay knew about Voight's wife he knew that it was a path that, was so much a reminder of the kid's mom.

Maybe what she wanted to hear that Eth's birthday had been heartbreaking in its own way too. Because his so-called friend Evan hadn't even bothered to show up that year. Because Eth so wanted to avoid the disappointment of even inviting a few people to show that he hadn't wanted to invite anyone over for Hank's offered barbecue and cake – for free reign out back and in the front room with the Xbox for a few hours.

Or maybe she wanted to hear – should hear – that eventually Eth had asked Hank if they could do the Field Museum (again) on his birthday and go to the fucking Jurassic World Exhibit. And he'd asked if he could invite Eva. Because he wasn't sure that Eva's dad could really afford to take her and her brothers to the museum or to the exhibit but that she really liked science and biology too and had only ever been on a class trip when she was little. And he thought she'd like it. And he thought that they could likely afford to take her. And that maybe if his dad hadn't worked enough that month – or with all the other things happening that month – that Eth had said if it cost too much that he'd use his allowance savings to pay for Eva's ticket.

Maybe Erin should hear too that Hank had agreed to that as part of Eth's birthday present. And that Hank had agreed too when Ethan had suggested that maybe he should invite Zoe too. When Hank had let Platt buzz him upstairs so he could come and deliver an invitation to Burgess to give to her niece. Because, as Eth told Kim so fucking matter-of-factly, he knew what it was like to come back to the city and to not make friends too quickly. And he knew how much it sucked to not have friends – or at least not to have friends you were close enough to that they ever invited you to do much of anything. So he thought she should come if she wanted. That he could call her and invite her himself – if her mom let her have a cellphone yet. But there wasn't a need for that. And that Kim seemed visibly touched. And they'd both come that day. Even though Erin wasn't there. And even though it was just as visibly awkward for Burgess to be there.

That there wasn't really a maybe around the fact that Erin should've been home to see and hear all that. That she should've been home to fucking celebrate some of the role that Jay wanted to believe they both played in all that. That Erin, at least, undeniably played in it. In raising a kid – a good – like that. Being there for him to help him get through the next fucking humps ahead of him to take him from being a good kid to being a good man. But she hadn't been there. So there really wasn't much to say. Beyond that, yea, Eth's Confirmation, his birthday party – they went.

"Do you have photos?" Erin had asked. Like somehow seeing that would make up for all she'd missed. For just how much you could miss in six weeks when there was a kid involved. When you had a family that lived in the same city as you.

"I guess," Jay allowed. "A few." He wasn't really a photo taker. He left that to Hank. And Olive.

But she was still up and out of bed. Across the room. To the dresser that he'd left his phone sitting on. But unfortunately he'd left something else sitting there. And she'd spotted that before she even got around to picking up the phone. She held that little blue box in her hand and cast him a look.

And Jay was out of bed in a bolt. Across the room. And reaching to grab it away from her. But she pulled it closer to her and moved to open the box.

"Erin, don't," he pleaded with her.

But she didn't listen. Because she never listened to him. So instead she stared down at the not-so-simple wedding band he'd purchased for her. The one that he knew he should've let her have some say in what she wanted and when it got purchased. But the one he knew if he kept waiting for her go-ahead on readiness he'd likely be waiting forever. So he'd again been the one who'd pushed ahead. Tried to get her to be something in his life that at this point he was starting to accept – he had to accept – she mustn't have ever really wanted to be. But he'd still gone out and purchased it – them – because he hadn't had to buy her the engagement ring. His mother's ring, his grandmother's ring, one of the only family heirlooms that the Halsteads (or really the O'Reilys because his father hadn't even managed to do that for his mother) had to their name. Jay had thought he should at least put the time and effort into buying her something shiny for her finger for the marriage. So he had. Rather than that shower reno in the bathroom that he'd convinced Erin he was setting aside some of his OT cash for – it was being squirreled away for what she had in her hand. For the second box she snatched off the dresser and flipped open too – staring at the men's band.

"When did you get these?" she asked still staring at them. Her voice sounded more broken. It wasn't how he wanted her to sound when she found out about the rings. When he asked her to marry him again. To go ahead with it. To go and get the licence. To make it real.

"I ordered them just after my birthday," he put flatly.

That little sweet spot they'd had. When he'd been living in the delusion that they were working on themselves as individuals and they were working on their relationship. And that they were in a good place. That they were ready. That he was happy. And he thought so was she. But that fucking bubble had burst. Quickly. Thanks to Bunny. And it'd all just … gone to shit. Even though he'd picked up the order – even though he'd had them in his pocket – as she argued with him about how little his opinion about Bunny or the case or the Ivory Tower hearing or the FBI job offer meant to her. And with that being spat at him, he couldn't bring himself to pull all those hopes and dreams out of his pocket to show to her – even though he'd clutched onto them until his knuckles turned white. Even though he'd had them sitting on their dresser since she'd tossed her crap into a suitcase and just left. Just like that.

"What are you going to do with them?" she finally asked as the silence hung between them far too long. Longer than Jay knew what to do with.

"I don't know yet," Jay said.

She glanced at him and bit at her bottom lip. Her eyes twinkled again but not with that light. Just with the tears threatening to fall. The way the limited light and shadows ice-skated around them.

"Jay …" she managed.

He shrugged and reached to pull the boxes out of her hand – to tug them but she let them go. "I don't want to marry you right now," he said. That dance of water twinkled more in her eyes. "And I don't think you want to marry me either. If you did – we wouldn't be here."

Her arms crossed over her. She didn't look defiant. She was just trying to protect herself. He knew that. He knew her well enough – long enough – to know that.

"You haven't been ready either," she tried. It wasn't convincing. "You kept putting it off."

He opened his sock drawer to shove them in there – shutting it. Putting them out of sight. But he knew they weren't going to be out of mind. Now for neither of them.

"For you," he muttered. "You wanted time after Justin. You wanted time to work on your relationship with Hank and Eth. You wanted time to figure out which of us was leaving. Where we were going to go—"

"So I left," she spat at him.

He drilled his eyes at her. "Yea, Erin. You left. You didn't move to another unit. You packed up and you left."

"I was never going to be a cop again," she pressed.

"You don't know that," he argued back. "You didn't stick around to see what the tribunal decided."

"It was pretty fucking clear that it was me, Bunny or Intelligence. One of us was going down," she argued.

Jay shook his head. "And so what? Intelligence? Let Voight deal with that. We'd all get moved somewhere else."

"Yeah, well, excuse me, Jay, for not wanting to spend the rest of my career on crossing guard duty," she argued again.

"You don't know that's how it would've played either," Jay pressed. "Because you left."

"Because that was the deal – the option – Hank set up," she provided.

Jay gripped at his own bicep. "The way I hear it was that deal was more about Bunny's future than yours."

"She was going to get sent away for self-defence. That guy was hitting her," Erin spat.

"Bunny brings a lot of things on herself," Jay said.

"And that makes abusing – beating – a woman, okay?"

Jay shook his head, staring at the wall. There was this part of him that just wanted to smack sense into her right now too. But he'd never hit her. He wished, though, he knew how to get her to … just fucking understand.

"Just because you don't like her doesn't mean she deserved to go to jail for the rest of her life," Erin said.

He brought his eyes back to her. "Bunny should've spent most of her life in jail starting from a long time ago, Erin."

He gazed at the ground. There was a part of him that always knew in the back of his head that it would be Bunny who would fuck up their relationship.

"I just don't understand," he muttered at the floor and looked at her. "I don't understand how we can put so much time and effort into Eth this year. How you have his whole life. And Olive. And Henry. In getting on level footing with Hank again. And then you can just act like that family – those people – just don't matter enough to give a second thought."

"You're allowed to have a fucked up relationship with your family," she pressed at him. "I'm allowed to have a fucked up one with mine."

Jay stared at her. "See, Erin, you didn't. You do know. But Ethan, Hank – that wasn't that fucked up. Now …" he just shook his head and shrugged at her. Because all that might be beyond repair too and he wasn't sure she realized it.

"Now is only a few months," she tried.

"Do you know how delusional you sound?" he spat at her far more harshly than he meant. He'd surprised her. Maybe he'd surprised himself a bit. He let his arms drop. "This isn't going to be a few months, Erin. Even this assignment is, it's going to turn into another and another. They are going to keep sending you out there until … you decide you're done. And just when's that going to be? When are you going to stop running away from what you have? Here? Who you are here?"

"I wasn't going to have anything here," she spat back at him. So hard that spittle came out and one of those tears she was trying to hold back went streaming down his check.

He made a noise and turned to stare at the wall next to them again. Because he couldn't look at her. "That makes me feel really good. Thanks."

"Jay …" she allowed a bit softer as she realized what she'd set. As that realization set in. That somehow Bunny and having a job had ranked above everything else. That she was that deep into whatever she was into that everything she had – that she actually had – counted as 'nothing'.

But he only shrugged and shook his head, bringing his eyes back to her. "No, it's fine," Jay said. "Because you know, I've had a lot of time to think about it. And I've basically accepted that clearly you didn't respect me, didn't respect this relationship, as much as I did. As much as I respected you."

"Jay," she argued. "It's … not like that."

"Then I really don't understand what it's about. Because I completely don't get how we went from getting engaged to dealing with a miscarriage to buying a house to being so fucking involved with Eth to talking about starting a family of our own … to this."

"You respected me," she said. "You didn't love me."

"Where the fuck are you even getting that?" he pressed at her. He barely contained his anger.

"Because you're about being there, Jay. You aren't about love. You don't know how to say it. You never say it. It's always some … knee-jerk reaction out of you. Like you feel like you have to say it after I say it," she raged at him.

He glared. "Maybe I don't know how to say it. Maybe it still fucking feels awkward and hard for me to say it. Because I didn't grow up in a house that had a lot of love in it, Erin. I didn't have much of a fucking example of what two adults who loved each other looked like."

"And you think I did?" she pressed at him.

"Yea," he pushed back even harder. "I do. Not from fucking Bunny. From the people who raised you. From Hank. From his wife. I think you got a real good example of what it looks like and how to say it there. I didn't. And maybe I'm still fucking learning what that looks like and what it feels like – and even how to say it. But if you can't see – or feel or tell that I love you. If I need to be saying it first all the time. Then I'm not the only one with intimacy issues."

"Okay," she shrugged. "I'm glad that all those group therapy sessions and visits to the shrink have at least gotten you to recognize you have intimacy issues. Progress."

He glared at her. "Another one of your flip-flops? One second you're happy I'm getting help. And the next …" He shook his head again because he didn't even know how to verbalize that. So instead he yanked open the drawer next to him and dug out a tshirt, pulling it over his head and then glaring at her again. "You think me going to those fucking sessions is just for me, Erin? It's not. Me going to those sessions is because I love you. Because I was working on being a better man. So I could be a better person for you. A better husband for you. A better father to our kids."

He shoved by her, knocking her shoulder as he went and she turned to follow him – but didn't follow. Just watched.

"So talking to strangers helps you be a better person," she muttered after him. "But talking to me – what? Just—"

But he snagged a pair of jeans and turned back to look at her. "Have you ever for one second stopped to think that it's not about you? That maybe some of this stuff I don't want to talk to you about. That I don't want you to fucking know. To see how you look at me after you hear it."

"Maybe I want to know," she pressed at him. "Maybe that's all I've ever wanted."

He reached and pulled the jeans up his legs. Keeping firm eye contact with her. "What do you want to hear, Erin? You want to hear that Juniors and Seniors touched me? That they assaulted me? That the coach didn't but he pretty much instigated it? That he had them grooming me? That if I hadn't worked up the courage to talk to Father – to get him sent away – that I don't have a fucking doubt in my mind that Coach likely would've been raping me by my Junior year? Want to hear that the fucking Catholic Church got him out of that school but just sent him somewhere else. And that now I get to live with knowing that he likely sexually abused, assaulted and raped other boys because I didn't have the guts to tell my parents or the police. Or you want to hear that I had to crawl into the bottom of a bottle to be able to have any kind of sexual relationship after that. To be black-out drunk. Which did nothing to help my performance in bed and also did nothing for me to even fucking remember who or how many women I might've been with in my twenties. That I never had a real relationship because of it. I never had anything that resembled a normal relationship. Until you. But our relationship – this – is not fucking normal. At all. I don't need to have grown up around some good example to know that."

He reached for his fly, glancing down and then back up at her as soon as he got it in place. "Or maybe it's Afghanistan you want to hear about? What do you want to hear about there? That sometimes I had to sit behind walls and in ditches and in sniper nests and watch villages where I saw men raping and abusing women and children and I wasn't allowed to pull that trigger. Or I got to watch other villages – women and children – decimated when there was maybe one target in there we really wanted to hit if we were lucky. Or that I saw kids with suicide vests strapped to them. That sometimes they'd made that 'choice' and sometimes they'd been sent out there that way. That other times I was the one ordered to pull the trigger. To take down the fucking little kid and hope that he didn't blow up in the process. That sometimes he blew up before any trigger was pulled or even after the bullet hit. And I saw friends and innocent bystanders blow up along with them. That I killed people. More than I'm ever going to tell you. In more ways than I want you know. That I watched people die. Good guys and bad guys – whatever the fuck any of that means over there. That I held onto people while they bled out. While they were missing body parts. While they asked for their moms or their wives or their girlfriends. Or they worried about their kids or their dogs back home. Or when they were in such complete shock they didn't make any sense but I still talked to them so they weren't alone. Just what the fuck is it in any of that that you think you've got anything to say about that is going to have made any of it any easier for me? Or will make being in a relationship with me easier for you?"

"Jay …," she started but he pushed passed her again and grabbed his badge off the dresser.

He shook his head at her and looked at her as he clipped the badge onto his hip. "What about any of that hadn't you figured out on your own?" he pressed. Her face had fallen even more. And he wanted to care – but he didn't. Not right then. Because he was hurting too. More than he could handle right now.

"Did you ever stop to fucking think that maybe me knowing you were there for me was what I really needed?" he seethed at her. "That having you there and in my life – knowing you had my back – that's what I needed to deal with the triggers. That's what I needed to push myself to keep working at it. To keep trying to get better. That you wanting to be with me and in a relationship with me – that's what I needed. I didn't need to talk about it. Not with you."

He moved by her, snapping up his gym bag from next to the door as he twisted the knobbed and started down the stairs.

"Where are you going?" she called after him weakly.

"I don't know," he muttered. And he didn't. Every fucking day anymore he didn't know where he was going or what he was doing. He couldn't find his rhythm. He couldn't find the security of routine. And no matter what motions he kept trying to go through none of them felt like muscle memory anymore.

And he hated it. And maybe he hated her a little for it. And he hated that too.

 **AUTHOR NOTE: Your readership, reviews and feedback are much appreciated.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Title: The Way From Here**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Erin must deal with the consequences of her decision to take a position in FBI counter-intelligence at the expense of her relationship with Jay and her relationship with her family. But an emergency with her younger brother provides her with the opportunity to re-examine her choices and to try to rectify any damages to her relationships. This story takes place in the AU established in Interesting Dynamics.**

 **SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers in this collection from Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas, Scenes, Aftermath and So It Goes (including chapters/scenes in So It Goes that have not yet been written or posted). This series also contains SPOILERS related to the finale of Season 4 of Chicago PD.**

Erin twisted the key in Hank's door but still hesitated before she reached for the knob and pushed it open. She just didn't know what she'd find inside. Or maybe more it was that she didn't know what she wanted to find inside. Or rather – that she did and she knew enough to know that she wasn't going to find it. At least not what she needed. Because she just … wanted to come home. Only she knew she was never really going to get to come home again. Not the one she'd left. Not Chicago. Not the townhouse. Not this house. Not Jay. Not her family.

Not now.

So right now it just didn't feel right going in there. Into Hank's house. She really didn't know it felt anymore like home than the home she'd just left. That she'd closed and locked the door on. And part of her wondered – maybe even truly believed – it'd been the last time she'd closed and locked the door there. Maybe it should've been the last time six weeks ago. Maybe it was but she just hadn't recognized that then. And she should've.

But she'd done it now. Officially. Closed and locked that door and walked the mile over to Hank's. Walked back to where she'd grown up, spent her teens … and than some. And what was she going to do now that she was there?

She didn't really know.

Drop off the keys, she guessed. Return them. Maybe this time for good. At least that what it felt like. Close and lock that door too. Because it seemed like now that was pretty much the only thing to do. The only way to really protect herself. Because … everything was just a mess. She didn't know how to fix it. She didn't think she could. She didn't know if she should even try. Because she couldn't come home to this. Not now. Not in a few months. It wasn't home anymore. It didn't feel like it. And that hurt. It scared her.

So she wasn't even sure she knew how to get herself to open that door. It just felt too strange.

Of all the times it'd felt a little strange stepping into Hank's house – all the times she didn't exactly want to cross that threshold – this was ranking high on the list.

Coming home for the first time. Coming back into the house at night – when she'd snuck out and could see the lights on inside and knew she'd been caught and that Hank or Camille were sitting in the front room waiting for her. That there was no sneaking by and back upstairs even if she went in the backdoor instead. Coming back after Charlie. After her relapse. Coming home with detention slips and failing essays that she knew she'd be made to do again with Camille hanging over her shoulder – even if she wasn't going to get extra credit. Coming through the door to little plastic bottles sitting on the kitchen table waiting for her when she knew she'd fail and knew that the next time she came home she'd find her bedroom tossed and that Hank would be standing in the door silently while she cleaned up only to get the ultimatum about what was going to happen if it happened again – because he didn't have that in his house and it wasn't going to be around his son. Coming home with her torn-up metal band shirts and her skirts up to here – and Camille, who hardly spoke to her for that first month or more – sitting on the couch and finally forming words – kind ones, caring ones, sacrificing ones – that stung even more and so differently than any sort of punishment or grounding or tongue lashing that might've previously been handed out.

Coming home after Camille died and with Eth laying in he hospital and the brother she grew up with losing grip. And they'd again sat on that couch in the front room and held each other and cried until they were so raw and tired they'd fallen asleep right there. And then how they'd both kept coming through that door for months after – when it didn't feel much like a home without Camille there and with Hank at the hospital with Ethan – and they'd gone through the motions, moving along the creaking hallways like zombies in a house that was starting to feel like it was just filled with ghosts.

Coming home in those weeks and months and years to come after that - where in a way it was always like stepping into a landmine field. Because she never knew quite what Justin would've gotten himself into next or how many times she'd have to hold a wash cloth to his forehead in the bathroom in the middle of the night while he puked. Coming home to try to help him sober up while hoping the hangover would be enough to get him to clean-up his act – because he really was a good kid. A good kid who'd just lost his mom.

Coming home after Justin called her – not his dad – after he'd gotten shit-faced at another party or gotten into a fight. When he needed someone to pick him up – and he always seemed to feel that if he called Hank, he wouldn't get him and bring him home. And maybe he was right. Then. But she always took him home – not to her place – even though she knew that once-again those lights would be on and Hank would be waiting to hand-out tough-love to a kid who's head was already pounding too hard to hear a word he was barking at him.

Coming home in those few years before Justin had really fucked up. Never knowing what Hank and Justin were going to be going at each other on that particular Sunday. If they were even speaking. If Hank was even going to be around. But that minefield had still been better then coming home in the days and weeks following Justin getting himself into a mess that Hank couldn't bail him out of – when he'd shattered that other boy's life. Though, she'd watched Hank try – and that had been hard to come home to too. Harder still when she had to come home after Hank got taken into custody and Justin got convicted – got sentenced. And she had to help Ethan pack a pack in that house that had once held a family and drive him away from everything he'd known. From his home.

Then there'd been coming home to the stillness – to those ghosts in the hallways and between those walls – that felt even more real when she'd walked in the door after Justin died. And that time it was less sobbing than it was her and Olive sitting in the front room in some glassy-eyed daze while Henry fussed because he could tell something was wrong but was too little to know what. But that shock was still better than having to come to that house after Hank did what he did and she did what she did – and for those months she couldn't cross the threshold. Because that wasn't the kind of thing that should be allowed in that house. They weren't the kind of people who should've been allowed to have a home. There. In Camille's house.

But really what she was thinking about right then, with her hand on the doorknob, was the complete apprehension she had that first night when Hank had brought her home. That utter fear about meeting his family. His wife. His son. About what it was going to be like living there. About how they'd treat her. About if she could really trust him. And the only thing that had gotten her through it was reminding herself that she could just runaway if it was that bad. Maybe she'd been reminding herself of that her whole life. It'd always been her back-up plan. Her default. And maybe it really had been that bad. Maybe there was too much death and haunting memories – ghosts and zombies – in that house to really call it a home.

But right now there was this other part of her that still knew it had been a home. Her home. Her family's home. The one she'd grown up with. And for all the bad and the pain inside – there was good. There was kindness and bravery and sacrifice and giving. Things that Hank and Camille had taught her. The way they'd raised her. What they'd tried to show her that family – home – was all about.

So Erin knew what was in that house. Still. Now. And that made it harder to open the door. The promise of memories. And smells. And a hearty meal and hot water. A clean bed – that wasn't exactly comfortable and was in a room that wasn't exactly quiet with its rattling window in a house with no sound-proofing, no locking doors and only one bathroom when you had multiple people – including two annoying little brothers – to battle with for pee-time, shower-time and mirror-time in the morning. Which wasn't exactly ideal when you were a teen girl going to an elite private school and trying to keep up appearances and the details of your story to fit in with the rich bitches.

But that was a long time ago. And not much of that stuff would be in there right now. Maybe the hot water. But late-June was already hot and humid enough in Chicago that it wasn't hot water she wanted – especially in Hank's non-air-conditioned house.

Yet, even though she knew that meant it was going to be stifling in there – she still just wanted to go inside. To try to find some sort of comfort there. If that was possible when she knew the closed-up house with Hank and Eth locked up at the hospital was going to be a sweltering torture box of its own. But she likely deserved that.

So she turned the knob and pushed the door open. The stuffy, humidity hit her almost immediately. This hanging heat in the air as she stepped inside and shut the door behind her. As she stood there for another moment, taking deep, slow breaths to try to adjust the stillness of the air. The air that wasn't just draped in the heat. The air that had absorbed the smell of that building.

There was an age too. But it wasn't bad. It wasn't rot or mould. Or maybe it was. Different building materials and paint and spills that didn't get wiped up fast enough so they'd crept into the wood and mouldings. Dust that got missed on baseboards behind dated furniture that didn't regularly get moved. Decades of people living there. Decades of a single family living there. Of kids growing up there. For a couple raising a family there. Making it home.

It smelled of them. The Voights.

It smelled like Hank.

The house smelled like his clean laundry with the same detergent brand that the family had been buying for as long as she'd been living with them. The brand that Hank had taken to getting a membership at the Costco just on the other side of Addams Medill Park (the same place he'd ranted about why anyone in the city needed to by buying in wholesale like that and what a disservice those kind of giant eyesores did to the 'real Chicago' and how it was just another nail in the coffin in their community – and what it had been) just so he could buy the formula in containers that looked like he was prepared for the Apocalypse because he hated when the company so much as changed the labelling on its bottles, and god forbid if they modernized their formula. But he could still get the brand – the label, the formula, the smell – he liked if he bought it in at Costco in amounts that prepared the house for months (if not years) of laundry ahead. Because it was likely the brand that he and Camille had been using for as long as they'd lived together. And now, even in her absence, its scent wafted through the main floor because Hank always had a basket sitting in Camille's office waiting to get folded.

The house smelled like his favorite herbs and spices – and fresh chopped sweet peppers, caramelizing onions, sautéing garlic and real Italian extra virgin olive oil that he bought by the gallon on the same block as the delicatessen counter that Camille's mom had worked at. Something he took pride it, though he lamented about the loss of that generational grocery store while Chicago's Little Italy turned more into a short strip of tourist traps than the community it had been in years gone by. But that house – its kitchen – still gave away the fact their was Italian ancestry inside, even if it wasn't in Hank's blood. That it was still some sort of legacy that at least at mealtime he was making sure his family picked up. Using the cooking staples so often that even when he wasn't cooking they'd become so permeated in that place they wafted out of the kitchen.

The house smelled like that awful(ly cheap) bar of soap that Hank used in the shower. Fucking Irish Springs and the even worse the near industrial-strength stench (not to mention the chemical-plant coloring) of the Pert Plus shampoo – because why waste time and money on using shampoo and conditioner when you can get a 2-in-1? A sentiment she'd been informed once – when she was busting his balls about how bad the stuff smelled and how hard its blue stain was to get off the shower's tiling or the tub if it missed someone's hair and didn't get washed down the drain and was left there to harden until it was time to clean the bathroom – that she'd understand the value of a good 2-in-1 when she was trying to wrangle kids of her own through bathtime. And even though she'd done enough bathtimes with Ethan when he was little and with Henry since he'd been home that she could at least accept that statement – she wasn't sure that she'd ever agree that Pert Plus constituted a "good 2-in-1" or something she'd wanted to rubbed into anyone's scalp.

It smelled too of Old Spice in such a cliché way that almost made her want to cringe but it never had. Because it was the aftershave that Hank slapped on every morning because he rarely even let his stubble even reach the point of being a five o'clock shadow. Not while he was on the city's clock. Because no matter what you were doing on the job – you had to keep it professional. That maybe while he was camping or out on a boat or long river bank with a rod in the water for days on end – with Camille, with his family, he'd go a few days without a shave. But that happened as rarely as his five o'clock shadows anymore.

Just like she could catch faint hints of Hank's cologne that he only rarely found reason to put on beyond a handful of times a year. But it still reeked badly enough that its presence in the house – in his hygiene products and grooming habits – was known. And even though it smelled awful, it didn't smell nearly as badly as his Irish Springs and Pert Plus and Old Spice – and definitely not quite as cheaply.

And she couldn't cringe at its scent either because Erin fully suspected that Hank was still rationing out bottles that Camille had bought for him years ago. That if he wasn't, he was at least buying the brands she'd favored - or what he'd been wearing when he was still just a kid and had some how deluded himself into thinking that it was the scent Camille liked on him. Though, maybe she did. Because maybe it'd just come to smell what Hank smelled like – to her.

And Erin could appreciate that too. She could understand. Because spending her teens in that house those smells had somehow become what a man – a good man - was supposed to smell like. What a father was supposed to smell like.

Because she knew what Jay smelled like. What he smelled like after a day at work and an hour in the gym and when they made love and after he had a beer and greasy wings that seeped through his pores and completely eliminated the healthy choices of almond milk and protein powder and fucking green drinks. And she knew what he smelled like after he just got out of the shower and put on his never dry cleaned clothes too. To the point that she'd been more than a little amused the first time she'd used Jay's shower and seen his pristinely organized toiletries – that were of similar simplicity and economy as Hank's go-tos.

She'd teased him about the multi-purpose liquid occupying his shower caddy. She'd told him that body, hands, face and hair could all use some of their own tender-loving care rather than having a single do-all product. That he wasn't in Afghanistan anymore. That he didn't need his bottle of soap to work as shampoo, body wash, laundry detergent, dish soap, hand lotion, sunscreen and lubricant too. But it'd only prompted one of his function over form quips. One that she might give him on a couch but she wasn't sure she'd agree quite applied when the product was being applied to a man. Her man. Then.

Not now. Because maybe they'd looked good as a couple on the outside – they had good form to those looking at them - but it hadn't felt quite as good on the inside. Or at least it didn't now. Maybe it never had – exactly. Because it'd never been as easy as maybe their spectators thought they made it look. And now it'd reached a boiling point. Actually, it was boiling over. It was making a big mess.

Their function was in direr need of repair but right now it feel pretty irreparable. She hadn't even been able to begin to wrap her head around how to fix it. She wasn't sure she could. She didn't think they'd ever quite be that function-and-form couple ever again even if there was some way to salvage what was left between them.

So maybe she should just focus on Ethan to start. Because maybe their relationship was salvageable. Because she was his sister. Because he was young. Because maybe they didn't have as much baggage between them. Because maybe she could get him to understand.

So she tried to focus on that. To think on that. To pick out his presence in the house. Because it smelled like him too. These quiet whiffs of teen-aged boy that made Erin suspect that either there was a hamper of dirty laundry up in his room waiting to get dragged down to the basement or that he'd gotten some of his stinky, wadded up socks shoved between the couch cushions in the front room when he was watching a Cubs game. That they'd gone undiscovered by his dad so far. That his ass had been chewed out about it just yet.

There was that mixture of sweat and dirt and gravel and grass. Of a baseball diamond. And she knew his catcher gear and his glove and his cleats must be sitting in the back breezeway – waiting to get dragged out to his next practice or game. And she wondered if she should at least go and move the bag to the back shed or the basement. Because Hank likely hadn't known the gear wouldn't be moving in-and-out of the house multiple nights a week – or that the house would be this closed up in a way that was letting stinky boy athletic gear fester. But there was the faintest ting of urine too that she thought was coming up from the basement. And she wondered if whatever was going on in the day-or-so up to Eth ending up in the hospital, if there'd been a bed-wetting or loss of bladder control and Hank hadn't had a chance to do more than toss the mess to the bottom of the stairs to eventually get put in the washing machine. Or worse that Bear had been spending some of his days locked in the basement and had to relieve himself on the concrete floor – that it hadn't been spotted and cleaned up in time and had now seeped in in a way that would mean there'd always be the small tinge in the air from somewhere in the house.

Thankfully it was mostly overshadowed by the Pledge dusting spray and the Pine Sol cleaner that Hank still mopped down the hardwood floors with. Smells that reminded her of Camille, which was the same reason she knew Hank still used them and still so vigorously cleaned the place over and over so those scents – her scents – never left. That they hung there.

Just like all her amateur artwork of the painted landscapes of the lakes and rivers and creeks she worked on still hung on the walls. Just like there were some blankets in the linen closet – washed and folded – that you knew you were never supposed to touch or take out. Because they were Camille's. Because she'd been the last one to wash and fold them. Because if you stood there you could still catch whiffs of the fabric softener she'd used on them before storing them away for the summer months. And Erin knew that sometimes when Hank was pulling extra blankets for Eth from that closet – he stood there, not because he was deciding what his son needed but never he was breathing in that scent. Just like the pillows in the master bedroom had never been replaced and just like she knew for as much as Hank had eventually purged Camille's closet space there were still a few of her favorites (of his) in the back and at this point she doubted he'd ever let them go. Just like her Himalayan pink salt lamp set on the kitchen counter – taking up space long before it was trendy but had certainly gained Olive's crunchy-granola approval with its presence. That it even got switched on – with its slight glow – regularly. Though, Erin doubted it did much to purify the air or the bodies and souls of any of them who moved through that house.

And Erin had weighed for a moment if she should stay for a bit. If she should open the windows for a bit. Let it air out for a bit. But that would mean she'd have to stay there. For a while. To stop when she felt like she had to keep moving. Or else she just might drown. And, besides, if she opened the windows for too long then the place might not smell the way it was supposed to. And she didn't want that either.

So she drew the key into her palm. She felt it ridges. She took a deep breath – breathing it all in – and she treaded down the hall to find a place to put this. To leave it behind.

Where it needed to be. If she was going to have any chance at moving on. If that's what she wanted. If she really wasn't going to look back. Now. This time.

 **AUTHOR NOTE: Your readership, reviews and comments are appreciated.**

 **The next chapter will likely be a bit of a continuation of this. SPOILER ALERT — it will be Erin/Olive. Still trying to decide if it will be Erin or Olvie POV.**

 **Chapter after that will likely be Jay/Platt/Ethan (possibly with a bit of Hank). Still deciding if it's Jay or Platt POV.**

 **And chapter after that will be Erin/Al (with some possibly appearances by others from the unit — undecided on that). It will likely be Erin POV.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Title: The Way From Here**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Erin must deal with the consequences of her decision to take a position in FBI counter-intelligence at the expense of her relationship with Jay and her relationship with her family. But an emergency with her younger brother provides her with the opportunity to re-examine her choices and to try to rectify any damages to her relationships. This story takes place in the AU established in Interesting Dynamics.**

 **SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers in this collection from Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas, Scenes, Aftermath and So It Goes (including chapters/scenes in So It Goes that have not yet been written or posted). This series also contains SPOILERS related to the finale of Season 4 of Chicago PD.**

Erin's head bolted up as she heard a voice in the backyard. Actually she heard more than a voice. Heard voices. Olive's trying to negotiate with a toddler – trying to get Henry to come inside and help her feed Bear. Henry's near perfected I'm-Almost-A-Terrible-Two shriek in expressing in his limited vocabulary that what he really wanted his mother to do was to pull the lid off the sandbox and let him starting tossing sand all over the yard. The type of stubborn tantrum – even in a toddler's vocabulary that seemed to be dominated with "No!" – clearly sounded not just so his father, but so much like a Voight, and clearly said that he was going to push and push and push until he won. And he probably would.

Erin glanced behind her – back up the hallway – as she made a judgement on if she could deek out of the kitchen and out of sight. If she could make it to the basement or upstairs – or out the front door – before she had to face the woman who also left Chicago but who Erin had pulled out the stops in getting her to come back. For Hank. For Ethan. For Henry. For the family. For her and her memories of Justin and the some connection to that past that she wanted to try to save. Back then.

She try to judge if she could disappear before she'd have to see her little nephew. That Erin knew from seeing him so few times in his first year of life that even in these six weeks he was going to look so different. Her little nephew who she couldn't believe was now almost two. And how she couldn't believe either that it'd only been a year since his father was gone. Since Justin was gone. Since the guy she'd grown up with, the kid who was like she little brother, was gone. Because it felt so much longer than that. Because so much had happened since that. Even though it also just felt like it was the night before.

But they'd changed. They all had. They might not show it quite as visibly as a little boy did as he went grew from a baby to a toddler. But they weren't the same as they used to be. None of them.

Though, maybe she didn't have to worry about Henry. Because as fast and short as that year felt to her (even though it'd dragged on like her own personal ring of hell too), she knew that six weeks would feel like an eternity to a near two-year-old. That he might not even know who she was now. He might not even recognize her. But maybe that was okay. Because Erin wasn't sure she recognized herself anymore either.

Erin wasn't sure she liked who she was and what she'd become. What she'd become in those days and weeks and months before she left Chicago. Before she left her family. And what she'd had to become now. Who she was without them. And it'd only been six weeks.

Maybe six weeks felt like an eternity to her too. Not that she'd had much time to think about it. But she had. And now it was so much clearer that six weeks was an eternity when you weren't home. It was too long. It was too long for a relationship. It was too long for a family. It was too long for a fourteen-year-old boy. It was too long to be so hidden from the guy who raised you that you couldn't even let him know where you were and assure him you were okay. Too long for when you had a guy who wanted to marry you. Too long when you didn't want to fuck it all up. But she had. And maybe she had wanted to. Maybe that was the only way she knew how to handle thing. Or just an example of how she didn't know how to handle things. How she was supposed to fix the city and now the country and the world. To fix crime and terrorism. And other people. And she didn't even know how to fix herself.

So she ran. She ran before she made things worse. She ran before she fucked things up more. She ran before she hurt the people she cared about most. But that plan just never seemed to work. It only made things worse. Harder. So much fucking harder now. Because she having to look in the eyes of all the messes she'd made. And she didn't want to do that with two more people. Two more people she cared about. Two more people that Camille would've wanted her to care about. Would've wanted her to take care of. To be kind and loving and giving and sacrificing for. Because even though they were a mess too – they were worth it.

Kind. Brave. Unselfish. To be caring and giving and sacrificing for those who mattered most. To be that way even when you weren't sure if you liked someone at the start. To be that way when someone else in your life knew they were worth sacrificing for – because if you cared about them, you had to respect their opinion, to try too. To make those sacrifices too.

And Hank and Camille had done that for her. For her and for Justin and for Ethan and for Olive and for Henry. Over and over again. That Jay did it for her now. Did it for her by doing it for Ethan. By trying with Olive and Henry – even though she still wasn't sure he liked them very much. At least at the start. Because of Justin. Because of Hank. But he did.

And she'd tried too. She'd tried to live up to what they'd taught her. She tried to be that for her brothers. But she'd failed. She'd been selfish. Because she hadn't been brave. She'd been scared. Because she hadn't been kind. She hadn't lived up to the example that had been set – as a person or a sister or a daughter or a friend or a partner or even a cop. Not that cop she wanted to be. That she was supposed to be. And so she ran. Ran again.

But she didn't have a chance to run that time. She didn't have a chance to move anywhere. Because the bolt was already twisted at the backdoor. Because the door had already clicked open – making Olive's slightly flustered (and toddler-boy, single mom, working-student tired) banter with Henry more apparent. And Erin was just going to have to accept she'd gotten caught up standing in the kitchen – walking through that house – too long. To face that. And Olive and Henry.

She didn't know how long she'd been there. She hadn't been watching the clock. Maybe she should've. In and out quickly. That's how operations like this needed to work. For them to be successful. But she'd gotten caught up in casing the scene.

The main floor – the living area – of the house was a clear indication of the fact that life had gone on without her. But also just how abruptly everything had stopped – that Hank and Ethan hadn't been back, hadn't been home – since whatever had happened had happened. An incident that everyone was still being loose on the details with her. Like seeing Ethan in a hospital bed and knowing he was being treated was all she needed to know.

School, bullying, bathroom, seizure, EMT – Gaby; 51, 911, MRI, new plaques and lesions – now down his spine, a hold in his treatment plan and a reassessment if he was still going to be part of the medical trial, optic neuritis so they'd tried Decadron this time and it'd done nothing beyond highlight again how poorly Ethan's body and organs were able to tolerate any sort of high-dose steroid treatment (without the details of what that meant – but she'd been … had been … around enough to have an idea based on past experience), and now they were moving on to plasma cleansing and immunoglobulin transfers in a last ditch effort to try to pull him out of the exacerbation (that wasn't calming, that was still flaring) and to regain at least some of his vision. Those were the words – the phrases – she was getting out of Jay and Hank. She was having to string together the rest and fill in the blanks on her own.

And somehow she thought she might find clues there. Or maybe it was clues to a reconciliation she wanted. Or just clues on how to appease her guilt. How to fix this or how to move on. When she couldn't let go. Because she was looking back. When she hadn't been supposed to. But she had. She was.

The front room was in a weekday state. Tidier than it would be in the evening before Eth got sent upstairs for his lights-out but still showing the signs that a kid had been in-and-out of there while Hank tried to get him organized – because Ethan never operated on Hank's schedule of pristine planning - and out the door in the morning.

The little wicker basket of Henry's toys sitting by the couch in a clear indication that Hank had had his grandson over some time in the few days before all this had gone down. Some of Ethan's little die cast cars were sitting on the coffee table and she'd stood there examining them. Trying to pick out their make and model. To pinpoint why those ones were out and had been left out. Why they were the current favorites. Though, now that she heard Olive and Henry coming in the door she suspected it was less that Ethan had been allowed to leave a "mess" in the front room as it was that Olive and Henry had been in checking on the house and the dog other days too and the little boy had dug them out of the basket. That Olive had missed throwing them back in the basket that Hank just tossed everything in (if Ethan was lucky and Hank didn't decide his left out knickknack-y toys and amusements, gadgets, headphones, fidget spinners, videogame controller, game cases or tablet were being taken into custody – put in their own special box … cage – that could only be accessed on completing extra chores. Picking up dog shit, mowing the lawn, folding that basket of laundry in the next room, wiping down the bathroom that her brother left in a bigger disaster than the damage Jay claimed she left in her wake. Because Hank didn't treat Ethan like a cripple. Because despite the concessions he gave him for his challenges, he still held him to the high expectations he placed on all of them. Roles and responsibilities that come with any rights and privileges) in his failed efforts for neatness. Because neat-and-tidy didn't exist when you had a fourteen-year-old boy at home and a near-two-year-old grandson visiting.

There was a chess board sitting up on top of Hank's turntable – on the high shelf out of reach of a toddling, grabby two-year-old or a bumbling, nosy, big dumb dog. To clearly protect it and preserve the game that was mid-way through.

She'd never seen that board before and had stood staring at it for a long moment only to realize that the board and the awkwardly whittled pieces – full of little imperfections but so carefully sanded, varnished, polished and glued– was likely a project from Ethan's woodworking class. That, like the year before, he'd probably given his term project to Hank on Father's Day. And that Hank was probably taking quiet satisfaction in receiving that. Because despite his tremor, despite his eyes – Ethan had preserved and made something that intricate and that beautiful. Even if it'd taken him weeks and months longer than the rest of his class. And that Hank had fought with the school to let his son take that class. To participate. And her baby brother was proving – over and over again – that he might need more time but he was just as capable as anyone else. That he was smart (in his own way). That he had his own talents.

But it wouldn't be winning the argument that Hank took pride in. Because he always insisted you did for your kids. You did for your family. You took care for them. You were there for them. You were their advocate. You fought for them in whatever way necessary. In ways that you'd surprise yourself with. That you'd do things for them that you'd never think of doing for anyone else. And that someday, she'd understand. She'd really understand more than she already did. His pride would be in the fact that Ethan had the opportunity. Because you gave your kids every opportunity in life you could manage too. And that the really prize now was like that Hank was getting to take quiet pride in teaching his son to play chess. Or maybe the really real prize was that he was getting to take a break from Uno, Clue and Monopoly.

Standing there, her eyes had drifted to look at the mantel. Only it wasn't the mantel she'd first seen. It was just the fireplace as a whole. And she'd laughed. She'd laughed at the sudden realization that it was growing up in that house – that was what had convinced her somehow subconsciously that a fucking fireplace was a necessary part of a grown-up, functional home. It was why she'd been so excited to have that fake mantel in her condo. It was why the gas fireplace in the front room of the townhouse had been such a selling point. Because a house – a home – was supposed to have a fireplace. Because Hank and Camille's house had had a fireplace. Which still likely wouldn't have been a valid argument with Jay about WHY they NEEDED a fireplace – whether working or not. But it might've stopped his sassy commentary about how kitschy a fake mantel was. Or the absurdity of a fake fireplace was. Not that the fireplace at the Voight's house was something that Erin ever remembered being used – despite the fact that the fire tools were sitting next to it. Despite the fact they'd hung stockings across it. Though, there was still something … schmaltzy romantic … about believing that one time it had been something Hank and Camille actually used. That maybe before kids they did. They'd use it. They'd sit there. Together. Just like her and Jay … had … flopped on the couch in the townhouse after the tough cases and the long days and stared at the gas-powered flames of their "fake" fireplace. They'd listened to music. They'd shared space. And that had been enough. Then.

It would've been nice to stay on that thought. That amusement. Or fantasy. But instead her eyes had tracked across the mantel. They'd tracked across Hank's never-ending rotating photo frames. The ones that always stayed in the same place and the ones that he moved around so frequently that Erin wasn't sure if it was because he couldn't stand them spending too much time with him in the same room or if it was that he was moving them from place-to-place with him in the house. But the ones on the mantel that day were new. Ish.

There was a photo of Justin's family. Him and Olive and Henry. A portrait that they'd paid to have taken. She'd been given a similar one – along with some baby shots of Henry. There was a photo of Ethan with Bear. It was one she had too. A photo that Olive had taken – because with Henry's arrival, and the never-ending shots of your first child, she'd discovered she had some talent for photography. She'd given Erin that framed shot of her little brother and his bestest friend on her birthday (along with an updated picture of Henry – though, keeping an updated picture of him anymore was hard because he was at an age he changed near week-to-week). Hank must've liked it too. He must've asked for one of his own.

But it was the shot on the opposite side of the mantel that she'd become stuck on. It must've been one that Olive had taken too but it wasn't one that Erin had ever seen. It wasn't one that Erin had even realized had been taken. But it was of her and Jay.

She knew where it was. When it was. Her birthday. At Ethan's ball fundraiser. When she'd gotten caught between the bases and the ball just kept getting tossed back-and-forth like a game of Monkey in the Middle as she tried to figure out if she should try to get back to First or challenge Jay to tag her out at Second. That he'd been teasing her, bantering at her – telling her she played kickball like a girl – as she deeked in one direction and then another. It'd been enough to turn kickball into football and she'd near charged him in a tackle. But he'd seen and anticipated it. Spun by her and around her as she tried to dodge back the other way only for him to wrap his arms around her waist and spin her around in his grip. She'd laughed. The picture had caught that – with them in focus and the background fuzzed, soft and oblivious to everything else around them. His arms around her, grinning down at her. Her laughing and smiling up at him involuntarily at the move. Him teasing her about she was taking too long to make her decision. To make her move. Catching them in that moment just before he released her and told her to go. That she owed him one. That he wasn't going to let her win that easily in the future.

And she found herself standing there with her eyes watering. Because she'd listened. Then. She'd gone. She'd laughed at him and the spin and the way her feet had landed and she'd rounded to Third. And she'd headed Home. She cried then. Standing there. Because she should've listened then. She should've made her decision. She shouldn't have gone. Because she knew now that winning him back wouldn't be easy. That he had every right to not make it easy. And even if she did manage to figure out somehow to get out of being the Monkey in the Middle this time – if she just picked the right fucking side – she didn't know she could look as happy as she did in that candid moment. She didn't know that Jay would ever look at her the way he was in that picture ever again. Or that she'd be able to be the kind of couple – or even the kind of daughter – that Hank would want up on his mantel anymore.

 **AUTHOR NOTE: Well, I've had some people anxious for the story to move along. SO this is a bit of an incomplete scene — but posting now as it might take a bit for me to get to writing the second half of it. SO there will be a continuation.**

 **As always, your readership, feedback, reviews and comments are appreciated.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Title: The Way From Here**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Erin must deal with the consequences of her decision to take a position in FBI counter-intelligence at the expense of her relationship with Jay and her relationship with her family. But an emergency with her younger brother provides her with the opportunity to re-examine her choices and to try to rectify any damages to her relationships. This story takes place in the AU established in Interesting Dynamics.**

 **SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers in this collection from Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas, Scenes, Aftermath and So It Goes (including chapters/scenes in So It Goes that have not yet been written or posted). This series also contains SPOILERS related to the finale of Season 4 of Chicago PD.**

Erin had had to make herself move away from the mantel. Move away from that happy moment that had been caught on one of her bad days. On a day she'd convinced herself that she could never be happy on again because it'd always be overshadowed by Nadia. By what had happened. By her responsibility in that. But, now, just two years later, there'd some how been a happy moment. There'd been a carefree moment. That had been captured. For all to see. To be put on display. And part of Erin knew that Nadia would've liked that. That she would've wanted that. For her and for Jay. But that also just made it harder.

Harder still because Jay looked so happy there. He was more than just smiling. He was in full form. His fine form. It was one of his better days. A day – a moment – for him too where a cloud hadn't been hanging over him. When he was smiling. And teasing her. He wasn't hurting in that moment. He wasn't dwelling or stewing or spinning. Beyond spinning her. Around. Held tightly to him while he tried to gently direct her. To give her a pass. That time. Because, in that photo, he was so clearly in love. When she'd just told him he wasn't. When she'd just dragged out all that darkness in him that he'd buried that day. For at least that moment. And Erin knew that dragging out those things – that conversation – it was another moment. One that couldn't be taken back. And one that would likely mean he'd never look at her again in quite the same way he was looking at her in that picture.

She'd retreated into the dining room – thinking it might be safer there. But it wasn't. Not really. It was sparse there. Empty beyond a now dated newspaper that was neatly folded and sitting off to the side of the chair Hank always occupied. The only oddity being that it was in that room when Hank usually just bothered to sit down to dinner in there. That he and Ethan sat at the small kitchen table for breakfast. So Hank could be near his coffee pot. So he could catch the morning sun coming in through the breezeway's windows. So he could look out into the backyard. Because, Erin knew, that was just where him and Camille always sat in the mornings for their coffee and breakfasts. The ones they always got up at an obscene hour for – well before any of the kids were pulled out of bed – so they could see each other before work. So they could spend time with each other without any of them being under foot. Without any of them being little hellions when they just wanted twenty minutes of quiet and coffee and the morning newspaper and sunshine (when Chicago managed to get it) … and each other. So she couldn't help but wonder why Hank might've been sitting in the dining room and not the kitchen. At least that day. The day everything had happened.

There were still hints in the room, though, that … she'd … let Jay become part of more than just her life. Or that he'd put in the work to do that. Sitting on the buffet was pieces of paper that Ethan must've tossed off the table when he was setting it for dinner. Stuff from school that either hadn't been sent electronically – or that Hank had printed out even if it had been. Because he wasn't much for saving trees – even if he liked the great outdoors. Because he hated having to navigate the convoluted school portal to look at homework assignments and marks and newsletters. He hated more when anyone at the school emailed him – "like they don't know how to pick up a damn phone". There were some homework papers there too. Or at least some scribbled explanation that Erin recognized as Jay's messy scrawl. Triangles and circles with lines and arrows and some kind of equations – that she wouldn't even to pretend to understand now even if it was only Eighth Grade math. Ethan never understood it either – at least not the way his teacher or the textbook explained it. It seemed when it came to math it was only Jay who could get through to him. And she stared at the sheet wondering if this was some explanation and example that had just been saved and pulled out to try to get through a night's assignment. Or if Hank had lost patience with his son and had called Jay over to try to figure out how to add 1+1 or xyz + abc to the power of 3 before there was a fight or a meltdown. If even in her absence Jay had still be over at the house. If he'd been there the night before – or in the nights before – Ethan got this sick. Again.

She peeked into Camille's office to see if there were other signs of Ethan's homework. Or rather – Jay helping him with it. There. But there wasn't. The room still sat in its usual time-warp. The one where it looked like it was still waiting for Camille to get home from one of her longer research expeditions. That it was still her stationary on the desk. It was still her fucking computer sitting there. The one that was so outdated that Erin had feared it was only going to be a matter of time before Hank wouldn't be able to access any of the photos or videos or documents on there that he still looked at occasionally. So she'd bought an external hard-drive and backed it up one night when he wasn't there – not there to bark at her about touching the computer that didn't really get used as a computer anymore. A hard-drive she'd tucked away for when the enviable disaster did happen and the thing on that desk wouldn't turn on anymore. And Hank would be hauling it into District to try to get whatever poor smutch they had on the Tech and IT desk then to do a personal favor and to try to save years of family photos and Camille's research and whatever else was still on there.

The only thing that changed in that room was the basket of laundry. And it only changed so much. Hank wasn't much for a diversified wardrobe. Though, the laptop got stored in there. Ethan's tablet and cellphone got locked in the filing cabinet drawer when Hank had decided the kid had had enough screen-time for the day. Which always seemed to be about the five minutes after he got home. At least from Ethan's perspective. Books were allowed to be taken off the shelves. Read, looked at, used. That's what they were for. But about as far as they were allowed to go was the front room. At least without special permission. Without that book being handed to you like a gift – for you to devour up in your bedroom or rocking on the back porch swing. And they always had to be returned to their spot eventually. Because they were there for a reason. And they were there for the whole family to enjoy. To learn from.

So Erin knew not to step into that room. That even though it wasn't off-limits – it was. And that even in casually moving through it, Hank would be able to tell someone had been in there. That she had been snooping around. Even though he'd told her to come home. To sleep. To rest. To get her head on straight. But she didn't know how he expected her to do that there. Not in the house and not in that home. And not in Chicago. There was just too many memories. All around.

Too many memories of growing up. Too many memories of the people already gone. Of Camille and Justin. Or Nadia. Too many memories of what she'd left behind. Of Ethan and Jay and Hank. Of the choice she'd made. Of the side she'd picked. When she hadn't wanted to pick a side. She never did. When she hated being the Monkey in the Middle. But she didn't know how to give up. To cut someone out. That way that Hank had wanted. And yet now … she'd cut out … cut off … wrecked … her relationship with everyone else. And that wasn't what was supposed to happen either. This was just supposed to be a cool down period. Time to regroup. Time to save herself and her job. Time to figure out … how to be there. Who she was there. Who she was if she wasn't a cop. Wasn't CPD. Wasn't in Intelligence.

But instead she was finding out … who she was without … everyone else. And, now, being back in Chicago – it felt like she was nothing. It felt like less than nothing. And she didn't know how to cope with that either.

So she'd felt that urge to run again. To just get away from it. To avoid hurting them more than she'd already hurt them. To avoid hurting more than she was already hurting. But she'd only made it as far as the kitchen. To the table to slide the key across its flat surface.

But as she did that her eyes had fallen on the dinosaur sitting there. Ethan always had a dinosaur sitting there. To keep him company while he ate breakfast. To fidget with while Hank lectured him. There'd been dinosaurs sitting on that table for nearly fourteen years. But for the past eighteen months it'd near consistently been Indominus that kept him company at the table. This wasn't Indominus.

Erin had been surprised that Indominus hadn't been at the hospital with Ethan. Standing guard. But even then in the back of her mind she'd been processing that Indominus was actually Indominus Erin and she'd wondered what having that moniker attached to it – to her – had meant for the fate of the toy. She wondered more now that it wasn't on the table. She didn't want to – wouldn't – venture to Ethan's room to see if it was there. Because somehow knowing that the beloved dinosaur had been cast aside as readily as Eth had ordered her out of the hospital room and out of his life seemed like more than she could handle right then. She didn't want to have to battle with tears more. Not when she'd only come over to drop off the key.

Instead she reached for the toy. She'd examined it and tried to pick out which Jurassic creature it was. It likely wasn't even that era. She'd need Ethan there to tell her what era it was from. She needed him there to even tell her what dinosaur this was. Because she didn't know. And that bothered her too. She knew her brother's favorites. She could run down the list of speices and discoveries he talked about – because he talked about them so much. Since he was in diapers. But now – in six weeks – she didn't know what stupid plastic toy she was holding.

But Henry did. As Olive finally got him in the door and sputtered to a stop in the kitchen, gaping at her with a long, "Oooh …", it was the dinosaur that Henry recognized – wanted – immediately. Not her.

"Giga-sore, giga-sore," he declared and moved toward her – hands in the air. Not for her to pick him up but to be given the toy.

She smiled thinly at her little nephew but looked back to the toy instead. "Giganotosaurus," she muttered. Her two-year-old nephew answering the question for her. An answer she should've known. A newer discovery. By a Chicago paleontologist. A clear necessity for Ethan's ever-growing figurine collection. The one that she had thought might've halted when the usual toy didn't appear in his stocking at Christmas. But apparently hadn't. Not when a new one had been added, she guessed, for his fourteenth birthday. Or maybe as a congratulatory gift after getting accepted into Field's Bridge program.

"Giga-sore," Henry told her again. And she smiled thinly at him again and handed it over. He immediately wrenched its jaw-open and Olive just as immediately stepped forward to try to wrench it from his hands.

"Henry," she sighed, as she grabbed it away and took it to place on the top of the fridge – well out of his reach, though not enough out of his sight.

He shrieked more displeasure. "Nooooo! Mommy! Giga-sore!"

"That's Uncle Ethan's special dinosaur. He won't like you touching it."

"Moooommmmy! Giga-sore!" Henry stomped.

"No," Olive said to him more firmly. "Go see what cars Ethan and Popa have out. You can play with those."

"Giga-sore!" he argued again and Olive grabbed his hand, guiding him to the entrance between the dining room and the front room, pointing.

"Cars," she ordered and nudged him. "Go. Play."

He flopped to the ground and screamed more – in a fake tantrum. And Olive just sighed harder and stepped around him, going to the coffee table where Erin had seen the vehicles. She retrieved them and brought them back, holding them out at Henry.

"Here," she said. He kept wailing and sniffling but still reached to take them.

She ran her hand through her hair and stood watching him for a long moment before turning back to Erin, who'd taken to examining a photo that was shoved in with the mail. She'd pushed up Hank's Weekend Outdoorsman, and Woodsman, and Fishing and National Geographic and Outdoor magazines, along with silted envelopes of bills, back so she could see it better.

It made her smile even more thinly, though her whole being felt like it was frowning. The sadness of looking at it. The absurdity of the photo. Hank and Ethan and Henry. They were wearing matching tshirts. Almost matching. Something that she could barely believe Hank would ever put on. The Original, his said. The Remix, said Ethan's. And Henry's said The Encore. It was ridiculous. Or maybe ridiculously cute – if any of them really could be that. At least when Hank was thrown in the mix.

But that wasn't what was causing her sad smile. It was that she could feel the moment in the picture. And she knew she'd missed it. She knew looking at it that it was Father's Day. But it wasn't that that she'd missed. That what she'd missed was Henry's first fishing trip. A rite of passage and such an ingrained and important part of the Voight family. Of what family time and family trips and summer vacation had meant with the Voights. Of what it had meant to Camille. And to her as a mom. And what it meant for Hank – and his relationship with his wife. But also with how he spent time with his family and his children. Those days away from work and the job and Gangs. When he really was just 'dad' for those few hours or days or that week-long rental at Lake Geneva.

It wasn't just Henry's first fishing trip that she'd missed either, though. It was that he'd clearly caught something. Or more likely that the rod Hank had readied for him and likely predominantly manned for him – and helped him reel it – had caught something. And Hank was crouched down next to his grandson – sunglasses resting up on the brim of his battered cap that he only wore when he was going to be spending hours on the water or in the ball stands – holding up the fish for the camera while Henry did his little stomping Riverdance, happy dance next to him, gazing excitedly at the catch while Ethan was draped down into the frame – leaning into his dad with arms wide apart, clearly making some joke about the catch being "this big" when it really wasn't much of a catch at all. Not that you could tell by the look of any of them. You'd think they'd just reeled in Moby Dick. And Hank was just beaming. In a way he rarely did. Anymore. A way he almost never did since Camille had died. A way she wasn't sure she'd even seen much of a smile out of him since they'd lost Justin. But he was there too. He looked happy there. Very happy. And it had happened while she was gone. And she'd missed that too.

"It's Father's Day," Olive had said, drawing her attention to the woman.

Erin nodded and looked at her. Slowly. Because it was hard to stop looking at the photo. At that moment. Another captured one. But this one not one she could remember but wished she could.

"Where is it …?" she asked.

Or maybe it was more she was trying to torture herself. Looking to hear that she'd missed the annual Father's Day trip – the tradition that Camille had started and that Erin had tried to continue for Hank and the boys – to the state park just outside the city for the fishing derby they held every year on the weekend. But it didn't look the rustic or that familiar. So maybe she was looking to be told that what she'd really missed was Hank taking his grandson to Lake Geneva for the first time. That after years of not wanting to rent a cabin there – he'd decided he did. That he wanted Henry to have that experience – those memories – that had been such a staple in her own growing-up with that family. So much so there was another framed photo sitting just to her right on the ledge of the cabinetry of her and her little brothers sitting on the dock of that cabin – in swimming suits and with popsicles. Justin with his shoved in his cheek in an obscenely cocky teen-aged, button-pushing gesture. Her in a bikini that Hank hated to the point she had a white tshirt pulled over it, doing a poor job at hitting much of anything since she'd just been in the water. And Ethan just a blotchy messy of sticky purple sugar-water dripping all over himself. Not the most ideal family photo. But one that had been printed and framed by Camille anyone. So one that still sat out. And maybe one that most accurately captured the beautiful disaster that was their family. That was Hank and Camille trying to raise three very different kids with two very large age gaps between them.

"Just Northerly Island," Olive said. "Ethan wasn't doing too well that weekend. Hank didn't want to go too far."

"He looks okay there," Erin said and reached to put the picture back where she'd found it. Back to wait for Hank to do whatever it was he was going to do with it – eventually. "So does Hank. And Henry."

Olive gave her own little nod. Some sadness was apparent in her too as she looked down at Henry but then gave Erin another little glance. "I think he … just likes … being a grandpa. And the boys … with him …" She shrugged.

"Yea …," Erin acknowledged.

Olive nodded again and went back to staring at Henry.

"I like the shirts," Erin offered.

Olive shot her an embarrassed smile. "A friend gave them to me," she said. "She makes them. I didn't really think they'd put them on."

Erin allowed a little smile at that and shrugged too. She was surprised. But not. Hank tried hard with Olive. Because he didn't want to lose Henry again. He didn't want to lose that connection to his son. To his wife. He'd made other sacrifices and concessions. Putting on a goofy shirt wasn't going to be a big deal in the grand scheme of it.

"They're cute," Erin said.

Olive eyed her. "I have one for you too," she said awkwardly. "I can bring it over? If you're … back …?"

Erin shrugged. She wanted to ask what hers said. She wanted to say she was back. Or she'd be back soon. In a few months. But she didn't want to sound as delusional as Jay said she sounded. And she somehow knew that it'd sound that much more like a lie to Olive – because she knew what it was like. To leave. To deal with memories. To make choices. To run. And she knew how hard it was to ever come back.

"I was just dropping something off," Erin said.

"Oh …," Olive nodded. "We were just checking on—"

"The dog?" Erin filled it. Because she'd already heard that conversation through the door. "Jay has him. Over at the townhouse."

"Oh …," Olive managed and eyed her. "We've been taking turns. I hadn't heard from him last night. So I thought we should check. It gets kind of stuffy in here."

"Yea …," Erin allowed.

Olive just looked at her. Her eyes examining her, weighing her. Observing her. It was uncomfortable. "Are you headed over to the hospital? We were going to head over after I gave Henry some—"

"I didn't get the sense Hank really wanted … extra people tracking in and out of there today," Erin said. "With the plasma exchange."

Olive's eyes set on her again. Just silence. And then … "Well … maybe … before you go you could help me grab a couple things from Ethan's room?"

Erin stared. Because she didn't want to go upstairs. She didn't want to see the bedroom she'd spent her teens in. She didn't want to see her baby brother's bedroom. The bedroom he'd shared with Justin for so many years. She didn't want to see the open door to Hank and Camille's room at the end of the hall. She didn't want to hear the rattling window. Or the rattling air conditioner that didn't work at all. Or smell the faded scent of Camille's potpourri that still sat on the bathroom counter. She didn't want to smell the toiletries and scents of the males – men – in her family. Or the fabric softener from the linen closet. And she definitely didn't want to have muscle memory kick in that kept her from stepping on all the spots that creaked in that floor. Or worse – that she wouldn't remember how to navigate those stairs and that hallway to avoid those creaks anymore. In the six weeks. And she'd have to hear every one. And to feel more memories stirred with each one.

"I was there last night," she said instead. "It looked like he had a lot of stuff. To keep him comfortable. Distracted."

"Oh …," Olive said, eyeing her. "… Hank actually … he called … with a list. I'm just … not sure what some of it is. Or where it is."

Erin stood there. It felt like a game of chicken. And she tried to wrack her mind for some excuse. Some easy way to escape without seeming like more of a bitch. More of a diaster. A bigger hypocrite. She crossed her arms over herself.

"Do you have the list?" she asked.

Olive nodded and pulled out her phone, thumbing around and again attracting Henry's attention. A new plaything he wanted and he pulled himself up and reached up at his mom.

"Fon, Fon," he demanded. "Mommy. Play fon."

Olive just ignored him that time and Erin slowly treaded over as her sort-of sister-in-law turned the toward her and scrolled down the few things.

"I likely spelled them wrong," she said. "I guess they're dinosaurs …"

"Yea …," Erin allowed. She thought she could sort of guess what Olive had been trying to type. Or at least she could deduce some of Ethan's favorites. Or the at least she could've six weeks ago. Things weren't supposed to change so much in just six weeks. But it seemed like they had.

"And his 'lucky Cubs cap'?" Olive said. "I don't know. Hank described it. Sort of. They all look the same to me."

Erin allowed a slightly amused noise but nodded. "It'll be his grandpa's hat. Hank's dad's."

"Oh …," Olive said and gazed at her. And then gazed more. "The book, there. He said it was likely in the master bedroom …"

Erin let out a slow breath and rubbed at her eyebrow but then nodded. "Okay …," she allowed. She tried to group herself. Or regroup herself. She gave Henry a small smile and stepped over him but he skittered away, looking at her horrified in the near assured affirmation that he really wasn't too sure who she was. That she wasn't recognizable to him in that moment. And in a few months he'd likely hardly remember she existed. Not without photos or affirmations from those around him about his Aunt Erin. And Erin wasn't sure he'd get those. And maybe that was better.

That's all she could think as she walked back down that hallway. Back toward the stairs. Over and over again.

But then Olive called at her. "Erin," she said. And she looked. "I … I really don't know ... what's going on. I mean, no one really told me anything. Just that you're working with the FBI on a case. Or something."

"Yea …," Erin allowed.

Olive looked at her with those weighty eyes again. "And … I don't know … if something happened." Erin's arms snaked around herself again. She held her elbows tight. "And … I mean, I know … things … with Hank … and just with family … they can be pretty hard. Just complicated. But I wanted you to know … that I'm glad I came back to Chicago. I mean … it's not easy. It's pretty hard too. A lot of the time. But I'm still glad you … helped me … get to a place I was able to come back here. I'm just really glad that … Henry gets to be … near his grandpa. And to have a family. Even though … sometimes … all of this is kind of messy."

Erin nodded. Or at least she tried too. It was more a slight shake. To try to mask her emotions. As she gripped at herself even more.

And, "yea …" was all she could manage again. Because right now she wasn't even sure messy captured it. Though, she also thought that Jay would tell her that messy captured her in her entirety. That she was a messy person. And this – it was just a mess.

 **AUTHOR NOTE: Readership, reviews, feedback and comments are always appreciated. Trolls are not. Seriously, if you're pissed at the direction of the TV SHOW — don't take it out on me. And if you hate this story or series that much — don't read it. And understand it's pretty ridiculous to take the time to both read it and then comment on how much you hate it too.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Title: The Way From Here**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Erin must deal with the consequences of her decision to take a position in FBI counter-intelligence at the expense of her relationship with Jay and her relationship with her family. But an emergency with her younger brother provides her with the opportunity to re-examine her choices and to try to rectify any damages to her relationships. This story takes place in the AU established in Interesting Dynamics.**

 **SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers in this collection from Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas, Scenes, Aftermath and So It Goes (including chapters/scenes in So It Goes that have not yet been written or posted). This series also contains SPOILERS related to the finale of Season 4 of Chicago PD.**

Jay gave Platt a little nod as he entered Eth's hospital room. She was sitting seemingly absorbed in flipping through a pile of the kid's topical flash cards but glanced up as he entered.

"The entire skull and skeleton of this dinosaur is covered in armor," she put to Jay.

"Ankylosaurus," Jay told her flatly, gazing at Eth. The kid was passed out but he could see his eyes twitching under the lids. Restless. The finger on his one hand were twitching too. Not on the side that usually tremored. This was different. Just more restless energy as his body thought and spasmed through … what it was going through.

"I wasn't even sure how to say that," the sergeant mumbled, flipping the card to look at the answer, only to shake her head and slip to the next piece of trivia. "It was discovered in the Cedar Mountain Formation in 1991."

"Utahraptor," Jay provided and moved to sit in the chair that was under the television – that he didn't think Eth had been watching at all. It was too far away for him to be able to see it right now – beyond making out there was some light and color in that general direction.

Platt made a frustrated sound as she looked at the answer on the back of that card. "A Mormon Raptor?" she put to him, shuffling the deck and putting them back in the box. "Since when does Utah get its own raptor?"

He shrugged. "Since 1991?" he suggested.

She shook her head again, as she leaned to put the box on the stand near Eth's bed, dodging her arm around the latest poles of technology and IVs that were attached to the kid. Jay stared at them. Stared at Ethan. They'd put the feeding tube in. The bag to try to get some nutrients into him added to the mix that was dripping into the kid.

"He's loopy and still would've been acing his audition to Jeopardy," she said, settling into her chair – uncomfortably. Because there was no way these chairs could be classified as comfortable. Not after you'd sat in them for much more than five minutes – and you sure ended up sitting in them for a lot longer than that most visits. And he didn't have a old hip injury. Or look like he'd aged about twenty years in the past month. Because Platt hadn't exactly been going through the best month of her life either. She looked about as tired and haggard as Jay felt. So maybe he did look twenty years older too.

He just knew he hadn't slept. He wasn't sure he'd sleep that night either. He might have to take one of his sleeping pills. But he hated doing that. But he also really just needed to turn off the instant-replay that seemed to be on repeat in his brain right now. He was having trouble with the whole mind-over-matter thing. The personal was really chipping at the professional.

He hadn't been an effective supervisor. Or whatever the fuck it was he was supposed to be doing at work right now. Running point while it felt like the unit was being pulled in multiple directions. Pulled apart. That it was really only holding together so much. Maybe the only thing that was getting any of it to stick together was that it seemed like the whole fucking team was using the job as just something to distract them from what was going on in their personal lives. In their families. With the people they loved and cared about. So they were burying themselves in it. They were chasing cases. Intel. Hard. But it also felt like all of them were holding their own fucking grenades. Everyone just kept going off in their own ways too. Explosions at each other and with each other – and in the interrogation and in the field and in the cage – that was slowly chipping at their foundation. Making it easier and easier for the Ivory Tower to find little aspects of how they did their jobs to nitpick at too.

There was just so much fucking paperwork when you were on point. So many fucking politics. Just bureaucratic bullshit. And Jay hated it. Enlightening, though. Added a different spin to Voight. Again. That he was able to play that game. To be a supervisor. A boss. A sergeant. And to still be a cop. To still remember what it meant to be a job and do the job. To not just be a fucking paper-pusher in a white shirt locked away in an office. And it also just drove home to Jay that he was in no way ready to think about doing his sergeant's exam in the near future. To position himself for some sort of command. To get a bigger salary but just a whole lot of bigger headaches. While being stuck in a job that really didn't let you try to distract yourself from all shit in your life. All the shit you couldn't deal with or didn't want to deal with or weren't ready to deal with. Because it was really hard to find any sort of real distraction when you were stuck filling out form after form. Not a lot of distraction blank lines and HR requests and policies and union phone calls and arguments.

"Thank god for the job, right," Erin had said to him more than once in the previous months. And he'd agreed with her on that. Agree that it was one of his lifelines. Something that kept him functional. Kept him stable. Most of the time.

But he hadn't agreed with her other favorite line after that. That the job meant that every day they got to meet people with problems bigger than their own. He'd never argued with her about it. Never told her outright that he didn't agree. Or that somehow her feeling that way fucking hurt. It made him feel even more damaged. Because it … it wasn't like he didn't think people they dealt with … victims … had problems. It wasn't like he didn't feel some empathy for them. Sometimes. Or that he wanted to help them. That a lot of the time he really just wanted to fix whatever the problem was. To try to save them from it. Especially if it was kids. Especially if it was a fucked up family – a fucked up dad, fucked up parents, or ones who were just all together missing – that were bringing a whole lot of pain and bullshit to those kids' lives. It was just … he felt like he had problems. Like he was broken. Sometimes more broken than a lot of the people they interacted with. Maybe in different ways. But still … just fucked up. His own kind of problems. Big ones. In a whole lot of ways. Ways from years ago. Ways from his – their – relationship right now. Just … not whole. Especially now.

And somehow Erin saying that – that they got to meet and deal with people who had problems bigger than their own – made him feel even worse, coming from her. Because she was this woman who he had to tell she had too much empathy. And it almost felt like … for as much empathy she had, she didn't have it for him. That she didn't get it. She just fucking didn't get it. That maybe she didn't see him as well as he thought.

And maybe that was his fault. Because he didn't want her to see him. Not that part of him. Not in that way. He didn't want to be broken for her. But that was likely part of the problem too.

He'd been so fucking broken that winter. So many cases had triggered him. Going to the shrink and to group therapy and the Wounded Heroes Lab for rock climbing with Eth. It'd all just stirred up too much shit. And even if he was learning more coping mechanisms. Even if he was trying to be better. Working on himself. Working toward being ready to be a husband and a father. And just a partner and a friend and a cop. It sometimes didn't really feel like enough.

And clearly it hadn't been. Because she'd clearly thrown in his face that morning how badly he was failing at figuring out how to be any of those things. How shitty he must've been at being a boyfriend and fiancée. At even being a friend. Because she'd said she couldn't tell he loved her. That he didn't say. That apparently he didn't show it. And as much as he disagreed – that he didn't believe that – he also knew she'd said it for a reason. That she hadn't just said it as something to hurt him. That there was more behind it. Just like there was more to her comment that clearly indicated that she had a problem with him trying to get help. Him going to counselling. Him going to group. Him accessing VA resources and the Wounded Heroes Lab at RIC and the Wounded Warriors programming that his group therapy had slowly drawn him into in a way. That it'd hurt her that he could talk to people there but not to her.

But he didn't know how to resolve that. Because he still didn't want to talk to her about any of it. He still didn't want her to know that side of him. But now it was all out there. He'd spat it at her. He'd had a fucking verbal diarrhea of epic portions because she'd pushed his buttons when he was already mad. When he was already hurting. When he was spinning already. And mad. Just so fucking mad at her. It'd just made him even more broken. It'd fucking pressed those cracks even wider open until it all spilled out. When he should've clamped down. He should've shut down. And shut up.

That's what she did. She shut down. She shut up. Or she told him to shut up. She buried her head in the sand.

And that was the fucking problem too. Because she was living in utter denial if she thought the people they met every day had problems bigger than them. Because she had her own problems. And they were pretty big. She was just as fucked as him. Just was fucking scarred. Just as fucking wounded. And really fucking broken. So broken that it was likely she insisted on finding ways to break the people closest to her. That she picked and picked and chipped and chipped at their sore spots until it just became a seeping wound. Until it just erupted.

And he had. He shouldn't of. But he had. And he didn't know what that was going to mean for them. He didn't know how to cope with all that he'd now left hanging out there. That he'd fucking confirmed for her. That now if – when – he was going to look at her again – she'd know. She'd see it more than she already had. And they were likely going to have to talk about it. If they were going to be in a relationship ever again.

And all that had made getting through the fucking day. Concentrating on the fucking paperwork. Doing the fucking job – pretty much impossible. He'd tried. And he wasn't an effective worker right now. Not an effective cop. His head wasn't in the game. And you couldn't be doing that job – the job – if you weren't checked in.

So she'd fucked him again too.

She was fucking him even now. Because she'd drawn him into this – her family. So keeping his head where it needed to be was hard enough. Because there was a kid in a hospital bed. A kid hurting. And he was having to fucking compartmentalize and to deal with that too. To put it in some kind of neat box. Only her fucking family wasn't neat and tidy. They were a broken mess too. Their problems were pretty big. But at least they had each other.

Or they had. Maybe that was the fucking point. Right now – because of her – they didn't. And that had just made the whole situation that much worse. That much more broken. And that much more just fucked up.

"I think he has the cards memorized," Jay offered in some sort of consolation to Platt. Like knowing – like she probably already knew – that Eth had gone through those cards so many times for likely his whole life would help Platt, in her currently just as broken life and mind and self and body, deal with the fact that a physically and mentally broken kid was beating her dinosaur trivia when she likely really didn't need any more beating down in any area that she already was. "He's been doing them since he was in diapers."

Platt offered him a little smile at that. "Likely," she acknowledged. "They've got Camille written all of them."

Jay just made a sound. Because it seemed like he was hearing that a lot anymore.

"What's your excuse?" she put back to him.

Jay shrugged. He wanted to come up with some line to shoot back at her. Something about a ridiculous knowledge of dinosaur trivia being part of the deal in being with Erin. But he wasn't really with Erin anymore. Or at least right now. Or maybe he was. He really didn't fucking know. That was part of the problem too. How to be together when you're that far apart. And not just physically apart. Maybe that you can deal with for a while. But they just … they'd lost their way. He'd checked out too much that winter. He'd pushed to hard that spring in his struggle to normalize and stabilize himself and their relationship. And he'd gotten too fucking pissed off when Bunny showed up again in May. He should've known better than to rock that boat. Because maybe if he hadn't pressed Erin's buttons about her mom this would've gone down different. Only it wouldn't have. Because Bunny started fucking with her head – fucking with her life, with their lives and their relationship and Erin's family – in November. And that had had its own fucking impact on everything in their dynamic that winter. That spring. It wasn't all him. He knew that. He wanted Erin to take responsibility too. But he also … he didn't want to be placing blame or trying to skirt his own responsibility. He couldn't. And it felt like he was. And he shouldn't have to feel that way.

He wasn't the one who packed an left. He wasn't the one who didn't listen when he told her she didn't have to do that. That she didn't have to save Bunny again. That she didn't have to run away from Chicago just because CPD was using her as a scapegoat in setting an example for how the force was going to deal with police brutality. What Erin had done – the punishment they were looking at – it wasn't the kind of brutality that CPD needed to address. That Chicago needed to combat. And if they needed to make an example of someone in Intelligence – there were other people who would've made more sense. Him included. Hank at the forefront.

"Voight's not back yet?" Jay stated the obvious.

Platt gestured at Eth's sort-of-sleeping body. "Guess they'd decided they were going to add all the hydraulics not long before I got here. He stuck around for that. Kept the Ivory Tower waiting so they're likely dragging ass now. Probably will make him sit there all day."

Jay shook his head and stared at the kid. "So they haven't started the exchange?" he asked. Though, that was pretty clear. There'd be an extra piece of machinery in there if they had. Or he'd be wheeled to some other room.

Platt shook her head. "Nope," she said. "Just put in the ports to get him all plugged into."

Jay sighed and rubbed at the scar on his neck. Eth's gown was riding down slightly and he could see that they'd put a port in for the exchange. His eyes ran over his body. Trying to determine if a second one had been placed somewhere for when the cleansed blood was going back into him. Or if they'd just be running it into – or out of – his arm in the one direction.

But Platt nodded in his general direction again. "Groin," she provided. "He was whimpering like they were taking him to the slaughter house," she sighed, gazing even more brokenly and tenderly at the kid that Jay knew she'd pretty much known since he was born. "Sedated him."

He bobbed his head. But the whole thing just pulled at him more. It … just so fucking pissed him off that Eth was having to go through this. That he was getting poked and prodded. That he was clearly scared shitless even though when he was awake and coherent he was putting up a good front. He was trying to be a tough guy about it. And the fact the kid felt like he had to do that just sucked too. The fact the kid was going through this without his sister there sucked. And it really fucking pissed himself that Erin wasn't there right now. As much as he'd been afraid that he'd get there and she would be – that they'd have to do that awkward dance around each other and what had happened, what was still happening – he was still fucking pissed she wasn't there. Because why the fuck did she even come home – why did he go to all the fucking trouble of making sure she knew what was going on with Eth – if she wasn't going to come and sit with him, to be with him, during something like this.

"Did it sound like they are even going to start the exchange today?" Jay asked. "Now?"

"I think so," Platt said. "Hard to tell with Hank. His verbal skills this morning were slightly more incoherent than Ethan's."

Jay allowed a slightly amused noise at that. But he knew for a fact there was truth to it. It wasn't so much that Voight was incoherent. It was just that he wasn't saying much of anything. To anyone. Not that he ever did unless he was giving you an earful and even then it wasn't like it was an extended brow beating. He was judicious with his words. Something Jay wished he'd been himself that morning. Now.

"He talking to you about any of this?" Platt asked, examining him a bit more carefully. Really it was an examination that made him kind of uncomfortable.

"Gotten more than grunts but less than sentences," Jay provided.

Platt smiled thinly at that and stared at the floor. Lost in her own thoughts about … all of this. About sitting at Med. A place she'd become much too familiar with as of late too. A place she likely didn't want to be spending any more time in either. But she had. Likely because Voight asked. Because there were only so many people he knew who'd have a few hours available – and who he'd trust with his son when the kid was laid up in the hospital.

"You doing okay?" Jay put to her a bit more gently – though carefully. He didn't want to prod too much. And knew that Platt could sort of turn pretty quick. He supposed like most cops. But knew she was going through a lot too. And he wasn't sure how good her support network was. He knew what hospitals and loss and the job and feeling alone felt like.

She gave him a little shrug but looked back at him. "Oh, you know …" she said.

He nodded. "Yea," he allowed. "I do."

"Sounded like you must've had a bit of a night," she put to him more directly.

Jay slouched down in his chair slightly and eyed her. "What'd he say?"

"Well, between the beat poet on acid blabberings about dinosaurs, the Cubs and Chewbacca driving a Ford Mustang, I managed to sort of string together that A) Hank better check what they've been lacing the Jello cups with, because the kid thinks when he gets out of here he's going to be living in some kind of alternate universe where he's going to get to dig up what I can only assume are tadpole fossils. I wasn't quite clear on that aspect."

Jay allowed a thin smile at that. In Eth's exhausted and drugged out state that could've been reference to a whole host of things just all fucking stringing together. He wasn't about to guess.

"And B)," Platt continued, "that the dominos from Bunny's world record streak of bad luck and crap timing are still falling. And they're knocking out a whole lot more collateral this time then just her progeny."

Jay nodded and gazed at his feet. He stretched them out. He tried to find some way to feel comfortable. But he didn't.

"She been around this morning?" he asked.

"Nope," Platt said.

He shrugged. He tried to brush it off. "I don't know where she is. She's back. Right now. But …" he shrugged again. "I don't know."

And he didn't. He still didn't. He didn't even know if he'd see her again that trip. Or ever. He pretty much felt like the conversation they had was going to be the same as the voicemail he'd got. Message sent. Message received. And who knows when they'd speak again.

"Well, whatever they are pumping into the kid," Platt eyed him, "he's got one thing right. Need to keep our eyes on the future. We all do."

Jay looked at her. He acknowledged her. But he wasn't sure he knew how to do that. He wasn't sure how she could do that. Because right now he had no clue what the future looked like. What it held. For any of them. To make plans or eye on it. Or to even think about it. To try to wrap his head around it.

But he didn't have to think about it – much, more than he was – then. Because all of a sudden Eth let out a gasp. This rattle. His eyes popping wide open – dilated and cock-eyed in their sockets. They darted around. Setting on Jay and then lulling to the side to try to focus on Platt.

"Hey there, Sleepyhead," she said to him evenly, pulling her chair a little closer to the bed.

But his nostrils flared and he gazed at her. His eyes darted back to Jay and then back to her. "Am I dead?' he rasped out. This quiet, broken terror in his voice.

"No, Etha—" Platt started but was cut-off, as the kid's eyes more frantically darted to Jay and then back to her.

"Mom! I died?" he shrieked and scrambled in the bed, wild eyes darting over to Jay again. And he could now near feel – see - the kid's heart pounding out of his chest.

"Eth," he started and stood to move closer to the bed.

But Platt was already reaching for the boy's hand that was gripping at the sheets, rubbing her thumb over it and trying to get him to release it and calm. "As flattered as I am that you could get me mixed up with a stunner like your mom, Ethan," she told him softly, "it's Aunt Trudy. It's Sergeant Platt. You aren't dead. Still right here with me and Jay."

Ethan's eyes just darted to Jay's again – terrified. "J?" he sputtered out.

So he shook his head and drew closer to the bed – trying to get into the very limited range that Eth might be able to see more of him than just a blurry figure. "Jay Halstead, Eth," he offered. "Not Justin. It's just me. Erin's …" he struggled to find the word. What was right. What wasn't a lie. What wouldn't confuse him more. Nothing seemed to fit. " … boyfriend," he finally settled on. Not that it was accurate either.

It didn't matter, though, because Eth's eyes had already shot back to Platt's again. "They're trying to kill me," he rasped at her.

And Jay saw the way her face fell. The way a lump in her throat gulped. The shock of hearing that out of Eth's mouth. More confused and disoriented babble out of a little boy.

"No one's trying to kill you," she said in an even brokenness. "You're at Med. The doctors here are trying to take really good care of—"

"They're trying to kill me," Ethan spasmed again and that time he wrenched his hand away from Platt's and reached to grab at the new port in his chest.

Jay quickly stepped forward and struggled with the kid's weakened body, his terrified flailing.

"Ethan," he put to him firmly, gripping at his hand as he still fought against him. As he growled and tears started to stream down his face. "Ethan, you've got to stop. You're just going to hurt yourself."

Jay held as his arm until the kid just exhausted himself. Until the fight became weaker and he just stopped. He lay there on his side and cried near silently.

Keeping a hold of the kid's fist, he reached and pulled his chair closer and then settled down at his bedside. He stared him in the eye as the kid cried.

"You're okay," he assured him.

"I want Dad," he sputtered out.

"He'll be back soon," Jay told him. "He had to go to that meeting. Remember?"

Eth just rubbed his face against the blanket. So Jay reached and nudged his shoulder, getting him to lay back again. Adjusting the blankets around him from the way he'd tangled them and still keeping a whole of his one hand to keep him from going for either of the ports or any of the other tubing and lines again.

"You're just disoriented," Jay said – gripping at that hand. "There's some medication working through your system. Keep resting up."

"Erin …?" he muttered.

"She's not here," Jay said.

"She was here …?" Ethan sputtered and looked at him in terrified confusion again.

Jay nodded, though, and squeezed his hand. "She came and saw you last night, Eth. She's here. She's in Chicago. But it's morning now. Almost afternoon."

"Where's Erin?" he asked, still staring at him blankly.

"I'm not sure, Eth. Around," he said.

The kid just stared at him with dazed eyes. "I'm going fossilling," he said flatly. "This summer."

"I know, Eth," Jay allowed.

"I'm going to save up," Ethan said. "I'm going to go on a dig. Sophomore year. Junior."

"I know …," Jay managed again. Though it was harder.

"I have allowance," he said.

"You do."

"I'm going to save," Eth said.

"I know, Eth," he again affirmed.

"I can go with Bridge. In Junior year. With the university. On a plane. In Wyoming."

"That sounds awesome, Eth," he said.

"I'll go," he muttered.

"I believe you will," Jay told him and squeezed his hand tight.

"Mom was going to take me," he said, his head rotating to look at Platt again. To look at whatever figure he could make out. Jay thought it was likely better that Eth likely couldn't see how glassy he was making either of their red rimmed eyes.

"I bet she really would've liked to take you," Jay told him. "She'll really like you're still going to go."

"Dad will take me," he switched.

"Maybe," Jay said.

"Erin will take me. If Dad doesn't," he mumbled. "When she gets back. Fossil hunting. Mazon Creek. Then Wyoming. … It's far."

"Not that far …," Jay said.

The kid's head lulled toward him. "Is it wounded Warrior Games yet?" he asked.

Jack shook his head. "Not yet."

"They're in Chicago," he muttered.

"Yep …"

"We get to go," he said.

Jay nodded. "Sure do, Kiddo. Got our tickets on the fridge."

"Baseball?" Eth asked.

Jay squeezed his hand. "Baseball and basketball."

"Eva likes basketball. She's good."

"Really good …"

"I should play …"

"Basketball?" Jay asked. "We'll get you signed up in the fall."

"Baseball. I'm supposed to play. The exhibition game. When's the exhibition game?"

"Not yet, Eth …"

"I should play," he muttered again. "The Warrior Games."

Jay just squeezed his hand tighter and nodded. "You should …" he agreed.

But he didn't need to. The kid was a warrior in his own right. Something that was really fucking hard to do – to be – when everything was just this broken. Still. When other people's problem – Eth's problem – was bigger than his own. But that he still wanted to badly to fix it. All of it. Of them.

"Why'd Erin leave?" he mumbled.

"I really don't know, Eth," Jay said.

"I think I told her to leave," he said.

"That's not why she left," Jay assured him and squeezed his hand again. The kid's eyes trying to make him out again. This completely disconcerting examination.

"I want her to come back …" Eth whispered.

Jay nodded. "Yea … me too, bud." Me too.

 **AUTHOR NOTE: Thanks for the feedback and reviews from my loyal and generally very kind and giving readership — especially some of my frequent reviewers and readers — you know who you are. That kind of feedback, reviews and comments are always appreciated. Constructive criticism and further discussion about the direction of the stories or musings on the series, as many of you know, is always welcome (and will usually be responded to), especially when you do it by DM.**

 **And, again, for those who are dense … I do not work on the show. I do not write for the show. This is FanFiction.**

 **I don't know any spoilers for the coming season. I am not responsible for any of the changes that have happened in terms of arriving and departing actors, arriving and departing EPs and old and new writers in the room. Again, this is FanFiction. It is NOT MEANT to be representative of the series. It is meant to be representative of the AU created for these characters in my previous CPD stories.**

 **If you haven't read my AU stories in this series — sorry if you're confused, sorry if you don't like the way the characters are portrayed, and sorry if you've been "spoiled" about the other stories in the AU, or hate that it's not enough like the TV series. But it's not the TV series. It's FanFiction. Of a previously established AU. AS NOTED AT THE TOP OF THIS STORY IN EACH CHAPTER.**

 **And, if you haven't watched the finale of S4 — and are unclear on what happened in the finale (and/or have been spoiled because of reading this, and/or are confused about what's happening here because you didn't see how S4 ended or you've somehow missed the the Lindsay character WILL be gone in S5) — sorry. Not my problem. Again, a warning that this story is set after the S4 and that this story is a recast of what could happen within the AU established in this series (not TV series, story series) is NOTED AT THE TOP OF THIS STORY IN EACH CHAPTER.**

 **For the group (or based on the spelling and grammar — one or two people with too much time on their hands) who keeps posting "guest" reviews that attack me and/or the writing (in a non-constructive way) and who seem to think ranting at me about spoilers and the direction of the series is somehow productive … please go away.**

 **Reviews will now be discriminately moderated. This individual/group — your comments are not being shared and posted. And, unfortunately, since you are posting as "guests", it is hard for me to block your trolling spam using this platform. However, you have been flagged and reported to FF.**

 **If you don't stop on your own or FF doesn't do something to block you on my behalf — you may quickly be moving toward ruining this for everyone. Because, I really don't care to see or read the abuse.**

 **I write and post here as a practice exercise. It's an unpaid courtesy. I am sharing with you all. That sharing can stop at anytime — if** _ **you**_ **(and you know who you are) don't move along. Do the readers who enjoy the writing and the story and the characters as depicted in the AU a favor — and move along. And do yourself a favor — if you hate it so much, don't waste your time reading it and commenting on it.**

 **Again, thank you to my majority of my readers.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Title: The Way From Here**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Erin must deal with the consequences of her decision to take a position in FBI counter-intelligence at the expense of her relationship with Jay and her relationship with her family. But an emergency with her younger brother provides her with the opportunity to re-examine her choices and to try to rectify any damages to her relationships. This story takes place in the AU established in Interesting Dynamics.**

 **SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers in this collection from Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas, Scenes, Aftermath and So It Goes (including chapters/scenes in So It Goes that have not yet been written or posted). This series also contains SPOILERS related to the finale of Season 4 of Chicago PD.**

Erin straightened as she finally saw a car enter the lot carrying someone she would allow herself to speak to. It was about time she talked to someone any way. She'd been standing out there – at the back, outside the gates of the secure lot – long enough. She knew she was starting to attract attention. Getting looks. And double takes. No one had come over and said anything yet but that would come in a matter of time. And even though she was apparently recognizable enough that they were giving her the benefit of the doubt – she also knew it wasn't too smart to loitering around a cop shop.

She had sort of hoped she'd catch Jay. She thought he'd likely slip out for lunch or coffee. Or that she'd see him down in the back intake garage and evidence room or getting into an unmarked car – or the Sierra – and she'd be able to flag him over. That he'd hopefully come over.

But that hadn't happened. And she really hadn't seen anyone yet that she was comfortable enough with to ask them to go and let Jay know she was there. Or there was the other possibility. That they absolutely recognized her and had mentioned to someone inside that she was standing there outside – that they'd even told Jay directly – and he'd decided not to come down. That he wasn't going to come down either. Which made her standing there questioning if she should go and pick up a burner phone to talk him directly or if she should go back to the townhouse and wait for him would even be worth it either. Or if she'd really fucked it up beyond repair this time. Something that was seeming increasingly plausible. Actually, more than plausible. It was the pretty glaring reality she was facing.

At least now, though, she was going to have some explanation. In a way. As she watched Al – and unfortunately Ruzek – pull into the lot. As she watched them get out of the car. Watched Ruzek look at her but track inside as Al tracked over to her – slowly, munching on his toothpick.

She crossed her arms more tightly against herself as he got to the gate. He didn't say anything to her. Just examined her. The way only Al really could. Because he'd known her too long too. And he had a way of saying everything he needed to say without saying much of anything – just like Hank.

"Is Jay around?" she asked.

The toothpick made its way to the opposite side of his mouth before he reached and took it out – still looking at her. His eyes were tired and sad. More tired and sad than she'd ever known Al's to be. And since Lexi, they just seemed to get more tired and more sad. She knew he wasn't sleeping. And even though he was standing close enough to give away that he was back to drinking more than he should be – she really didn't need that whiff of stale booze on him to know either. His own demeanor said it. His attire was more rumpled. The locks sticking out from under his cap looked greasier. She didn't think laundry and personal hygiene had been at the top of his list of priorities for a while. Months. He looked like – smelled like – he should be the one undercover. Or better – on stakeout. In a lot of ways, Erin knew that Al would likely be happier if he was. Though, happier wasn't the right word. It was just that he'd cope better with that job situation. The excuse it gave him to wallow in his misery. And looking at him like that – it sort of smacked her in the face that she was doing the same thing. Though, her excuses were far weaker than Al's. Less justified.

But, she'd argue that with Meredith and Michelle – his excuses weren't that justified either. Not that she'd say that to him. Ever.

Al wasn't a person she sassed at. And, somehow she knew that Al wasn't a person who'd tolerate her sassing either. That even though he cared about her – she knew that – she'd also always gotten the sense that there was a certain disapproval somewhere in him about Hank's decision to take her in. Hank's direction in getting her into the Academy and into a job in CPD and fast tracking her to detective and putting her under his supervision. That fact that she was "his girl" and likely little more than his C.I.. A kid he'd turned out at fourteen. Not even. And maybe a kid that Hank had done more things for in establishing that arrangement – and acting on the intel that Erin gave him – than even she knew. But Al did.

Al was a man of secrets. The old guard. Maybe just as much as Hank. And maybe in a different way than Hank. Their shared paths had their divergences. Just like their morals and grey areas didn't entirely line up. But she knew in a lot of ways they were in it together. That Hank had bailed out Al more ways than they'd ever talk about – that she'd every really know. And that Al had returned the favor – or at least kept his mouth shut – many times over the years. As thick as thieves. But not exactly thieves. But not exactly Robin Hood's either. Some days – days like today – she really wasn't sure what they were. Or who they were.

But Erin did know that as much as he treated her like family – like Hank's girl – he always had these looks for her. Ones that said for what Hank had done for her – for the situation she was in – she was now responsible for reeling Hank in to. That she carried responsibilities that he expected her to live up to too. That he held her to – if she wanted him to respect her. And she did. Because he was part of the family she'd grown up in. He was part of the network she'd come to know. The support system she hoped she had. Because sometimes she still wondered where that respect began and ended with Al. Sometimes Erin wondered how much he liked her versus how much he put up with her.

But she also knew that Al just kept a safe – six-arms' length distance – from everyone. Because he was a husband. And a father. But a broken one in so many ways. Because he was a cop. Or a U.C. Or a vet. And whatever those job descriptions entailed, he'd seen and done things that he didn't want those around him to see and know he'd done.

Sort of like someone she knew. Sort of like a lot of the men she knew. And maybe sort of like herself. Too much.

So what commentary could see provide – did she have any right to provide – about Meredith and Michelle still being a reason for him to go on. TO be the good man – the bigger and better man – that he was. To not bury himself in the job again until he fucked it all up. Even more. To not fall into a bottle. To not go off his hinges. Or into a dark place. Or to end up in some sort of situation that it was hard to pull him out of. Or hard for those around him to forgive him.

But even formulating that lecture – that she'd never give – in her head felt hypocritical. Beyond hypocritical. Because she had – she should still have – reasons to be better than all those things – all those messes – that she wanted Al to have. And to avoid. But she'd done all the things she didn't want him to. Anymore than he already was. And Erin already knew where it had gotten her in six short weeks.

Six short weeks that weren't so short. Six weeks that had been a year in the making. Or maybe four years in the making. Since Justin went to jail. And Hank went to jail. Or maybe it was more like they were seven years in the making. Since they'd lost Camille. And the stability – the foundation – in all their lives, the one that held them together, was gone.

Or really, maybe it'd just been in the making her whole life. Since she was born into bad news. To a woman who she so wanted to love her. But never had. No matter what she did to try to be a good daughter and to be there and to support her. How she still did. How she still tried to give so much to her. Gave up so fucking much for her. And … what'd it do?

It didn't make Bunny love her. Or want to be in her life more. Or trust her or appreciate her. Or see her as a daughter. See her as someone who made her proud. Because … Bunny couldn't be any of those things. No matter how hard Erin tried. No matter what she did. And instead … now … rather than coming through it. Rather than growing out of it. Growing into her own person. Her own woman. To be better than Bunny. To have more than Bunny. She'd just … given up it all. In six short … exceedingly long … weeks.

So maybe it wasn't just Bunny. Maybe it was growing up without a father. To go through life knowing that not only couldn't her own mother love her – but her father loved her so little, she'd never so much as been worth being there for. Ever. That if your own father can't love you – how can any man? And if your own mother can't love you, how can anyone?

What fucking value you do have in the world? It just becomes a constant slog of proving yourself. Over and over. To try to prove your value. To prove your worth. To try to be worth something. And in the end – all that work, all that effort, all that pain and years of … wandering and fighting – it all just ended up feeling pretty worthless too.

She might've been okay. Maybe. If she hadn't looked back. But here – now – Erin wasn't even convinced she'd entirely turned away. And here – now – it was just road bumps. Road bump after road bump. Slowing her down. Jay. Ethan. Hank. The townhouse. The house. The fucking dog. The fucking dinosaurs. The smells. The sandbox. The memories. And the future she hadn't decided to fight for … then. And other people's futures … moments, memories … she'd given up on too. That she'd sacrificing being a part of. For what? For the job? For a job? For fucking Bunny?

For as right as it'd seemed. Then. As much sense as it'd made. For all the things she was scared of then. She was more scared now. She was hurting more now. And all of it … it just didn't make any fucking sense.

"You know this is the backdoor, right?" Al put to her, moving to lean against the concrete reinforcement that she'd been balancing her ass against for the better part of forty minutes too.

Erin just crossed her arms a little tighter at his attempt at humor. If it was that. Al wasn't that funny. For as funny he was.

"Yea, Alvin. Thanks for that PSA," she said.

He just gazed at her sideways. He went back to munching on his toothpick. A quirk she hated. Though, she supposed there were more disgusting habits that cops had. Especially some of the older ones. The ones who thought they were tough guys. Though, she didn't get the sense that Al thought he was much of a tough guy. He just knew how to operate. That didn't make him tough. It made him smart. You had to be to survive the job – the kind of gigs he did, the kind of U.C. he'd endured – that long. Maybe she could … should've … learned a thing or two from him. Talked to him more. Or listened. Before she made her decision. Because FBI Counter-Terrorism … that was different than the short-term gigs they did for Intelligence. This wasn't a night or a couple days or a week. But maybe she really didn't want to listen – maybe she shouldn't listen – to him now. Because she wasn't sure Alvin was who she wanted to be. Who she should want to be. As much as he was an example – he wasn't. Not in that way. And maybe she shouldn't have been so blind to that in the first place.

"Likely have better luck catching him up front," he said, gesturing. "Or anyone."

She eyed him directly. "And maybe that's the point." The toothpick just traced across his lips again and she gestured to the backdoor. "Is he in there?"

Al shrugged. And supposed that was a legitimate answer. He had just pulled back into District. He likely didn't know. Per say.

"He's been taking lunch this week," he finally provided, tilting his head back toward the direction she'd come from. The townhouse. Hank's house. Med.

She let out a slow breath at that and allowed a little nod. She gripped herself a bit tighter and stared across the street.

"Have you been?" she asked.

Al shrugged. "Once or twice."

That's all. But she shouldn't expect more for Al. She knew he wasn't the person to press about what he knew about how Ethan was doing. About what even happened. About how Hank was doing. She'd get shorter answers than even Hank gave her … before.

"Is he going to lose Intelligence, Al?" she asked instead.

His eyes tracked back to hers. They stayed there. "You know … I've seen this city shove just about everything it could at a cop his way, and there's one thing I've learned—"

But she stopped him. Because she'd heard this line before. More than once. And she didn't think it applied here.

"This isn't the city, Al," she put to him. She tried so hard to keep what she was feeling from reflecting in her eyes, but she knew it must be there. She knew he must see it, no matter how much she didn't want him to. "This is life."

"He's as tough as they come," he told her a bit more gently.

She shook her head and looked down. "Not so tough," she whispered and forced herself to look up at him again. "He's had a bit of a … year."

Al shoved his hands into his pockets – into his too hot for summer jacket. A jacket that should've been into the dry cleaner over the warm summer months. But a jacket that looked like it didn't so much as know what dry cleaning was. Again, not so unlike someone else she knew.

"Yeah, I think we all have," he said flatly and did his own diversion of his eyes.

She shook her head again and found that stop on the ground. That crack in the sidewalk to scoff her boot along. A move that just a few short weeks ago, Eth and Eva would've given her hell for as they got into the Floor is Lava craze. They were both pretty good at it. Eth and his crutches had found some pretty creative ways to avoid disaster. And she might've allowed herself to get in on the absurdity. Because a few short weeks ago … maybe she was a decent big sister. Maybe she could still be silly … when she wasn't having to ride his ass. Like she was the mom he wasn't getting to grow up with. Like he was the kid she'd never really wanted. But that had some how so fully become her own. This … previously … stabilizing force in her life. Her reason to … not fuck up too badly. Beyond repair.

But … then she had. Because Bunny had really turned the floor – her whole fucking world – into lava. And the only way to escape the mess … the one Bunny had created, the one she'd created herself when she shoved that gun down that guy's throat … was to make a death-defying leap across the country and into a fucking new ring of hell. Into a whole different volcano waiting to explode. In the boiler pot that had become their country. Or at least certain segments of it.

Segments and populations and people and cities and ideas and states that maybe she hadn't really known, hadn't really been exposed to, hadn't quite acknowledged and accepted and realized growing up as a street kid in Chicago. Being raised in a cop family. Being on the job in the city. A job that always had its own purposes – it's own reasons and goals – that went above and beyond the politics and rhetoric and bureaucracy and red tape. A different kind of hate and fear and pain and crime. Ones that she knew more intimately than what she had to interact with every day now. And maybe she had led an insulated life. In some ways. Maybe it'd be sheltered. Maybe she hadn't really been anywhere but Chicago. But Illinois. Beyond a handful for overnights, weekend getaways, and family vacations to other cities, villages and backwoods in the Midwest. Beyond those few work trips to New York. That trip to Myrtle Beach with the Voights. That one down to Florida with her baby brother. With her then fiancée. Her other best friend. So maybe she didn't really know America. Or the world. Beyond books and atlases and the news. But maybe staying put … as much as it was about being somewhere where Bunny could find her … where her father could find her, if he ever came looking … it'd also been about … knowing who she was. Maybe Chicago was just who she was. It didn't need her to create a story. To fill in the details to make her cover believable. To live some life where she didn't even recognize herself. Where she could hardly recognize the people around her as … people she wanted to serve and protect.

Because in Chicago …. She could understand … she could relate … to the needs of the city. To the needs of the people. There were people there she could thought she could help. Help them overcome and rise above their own challenges and instabilities. Their own self. Things she thought she could help others escape. To help them get out of it. To be more. To do more. To make a difference. And now … for the fancy title and fancy gig … she didn't know what she was doing. Not anymore. Not most days. The goal and the results … if there ever were any … right now, they didn't feel quite as tangible. Not as tangible as what she did with CPD. Not as tangible as the lives she'd impacted in Chicago. Not as tangible as the little baby brother that she'd helped raise. The kid who told her she was his best friend. And if she wanted to be honest – in so many ways – that little fourteen-year-old kid had been her best friend … one of her best things … for a long, long time too.

"I've never heard him talk about leaving the job before," she near whispered.

Al eyed her. "Leave of absence."

Erin shifted her eyes to his. "He doesn't take time off," she said.

Al gave a little shrug. "Does he have much of a choice?" She sighed and went back to examining the crack in the ground. "Might go a little half-cocked sometimes. But you guys," he said and eyed her until she gave him a glance. "He does by you kids."

"I know …" she muttered.

And looked away again. Because it was a hard reality to accept. Hard to admit even though she'd known the truth for a long time. She'd known it since she was fourteen, even though it'd taken her a lot longer to understand it. Even though it was a concept – when she was included in it – she still had trouble fully wrapping her head around. The why. The "you cheer me up" line that she'd flippantly been given over and over again as she pushed for some explanation. The one she knew wasn't the explanation – even though she'd come to accept slowly there was truth to it to. A line she'd always taken as about as flippant "yea". Because what more was she supposed to say. And maybe it should've been – maybe it always should've been – a bigger "yea" than she'd ever given it. Because it was a win.

"It's only temporary," Al said.

She gazed at him. "If the Ivory Tower doesn't jam him up."

"Heard it went okay," Al said flatly and chomped on his toothpick again.

"If they approve his leave. If they approve bringing Antonio back upstairs. If he even wants to—"

"He does," Al interjected.

"Does he know that now is only temporary?" she pressed. "Is that the way the Commander sees it?"

Al looked at her more firmly. An angry intensity was to it. "He can't just be leaving E alone at Med all day. Single parent."

And she could accept that. She could read into the underlying message. That this was an all-hands-on-deck scenario. And she wasn't there to bail some of the water overboard. That even if she wasn't a parent to Eth – she was. And she'd committed to watching his back. To taking care of him. To treating him like her little brother. Because he was. And she'd left Hank alone in that too. That she'd turned her back on him – on all the commitments she'd made to him and to the family he'd given her – when she'd picked her path. When he'd told her not to look back. Because her looking back down … it was fucking with him. With all of them. Just was much as it was her.

"I think I screwed up …" she muttered again – and again gave him another glance.

Al just shrugged at her, though. "Probably aren't a good judge right now," he said. There was a dismissiveness about it that replaced the anger. Like he was going to offer her a lax consolation prize that was pretty much holding the door open for her to be just as miserable as him. To have the same excuses and the same crutches and to be blind to the good she had – or could've had – in her life. For the job. To hide from her problems and fears – about who and what she really was. "Coming back. Need to remember that it was only a matter of time. There was a line. There always is. Eventually it going to get crossed with everything you had going on upstairs."

"So I blew it," she whispered.

"Nah," Al said. "You still got a job. A job a lot of cops in this city would kill for. Why jeopardize that now?"

She shook her head at him and looked at the ground. Stared. Because she knew why. She should've known why before she left. Before she made that decision. But even if she was in a panicked denial then – now – she couldn't be. The reality was beating her over the head until she felt like her whole being was pounding in a bloody pulp. "Because I've got a sick little brother. Because I had a fiancée. Because I—"

"Had?" she heard firmly behind her and twisted to see Jay standing there with his hands shoved deep into his jean pockets. He'd been crying or drinking. Or maybe both. It might've been hours ago but his eyes were still rimmed red. They were glassy and tired. And just so broken and said.

Al took it as his cue to leave – pushing himself upright and trudging back toward the door without so much as a goodbye. But she didn't get the sense that Al ever did goodbyes. He did his best to phase in and out of people's lives – and situations – like some kind of apparition.

Erin watched him go as Jay watched her until he moved and settled next to her on the barrier. He scuffed his foot along the same crack as she had been.

"Ruzek said you were back here," he said. "I just got back."

"Okay …", she said. The message was clear – he hadn't been avoiding her. Only they both knew he had. You don't leave the house in the middle of the night when you aren't avoiding them. And you don't take a U.C. job with the FBI and move across the country if you aren't avoiding people either. But she added: "I don't want you to sell the house."

He gave her a glance. "I don't want to live in a house we bought without you there."

She let her arms slowly come down and rest against the concrete barrier. She let her hand nudge across it until she could hook her little finger with his against the concrete. He let her. But didn't look. Didn't speak.

"Maybe …," she said quietly, "we can just … pretend we're like that couple from that article you read. Just for a bit?"

He gazed at her. The hurt was still there. Deeply. "Erin, there's a pretty big difference between across the street and halfway across the country," he said and looked back down to the crack. "If that's even where you are."

She sighed. There wasn't much she could say to that.

"I don't want to pretend," he finally said and looked at her again. "It's like U.C., Erin. It's in the details. Our relationship. Marriage. It's in the details. It has to be real for it to work. Not lip service. Not time and space. I don't want to be that guy waiting around for you to …" He sighed harder and shook his head. He stared at the ground and then brought his eyes back to her. "To figure out what you want. To see what you have. Had."

"Jay …," she tried. She tried and tried again, struggling to find words. "I'm completely in love with you."

But his finger unhooked from hers and he pushed up, straightening. "Erin, I'm having a real hard time believing that right now. And I just can't hear it. Especially after this morning—"

"I shouldn't have said that," she interjected, pushing to her feet too – because she could feel him getting ready to bolt.

"But you did," he pressed at her. "And I did too. And I can't … I'm not going to have some sort of … debrief about it right now. At work. I can't."

She nodded. Even though she felt her eyes water. She knew he was right. But it just … it wasn't what she wanted to hear. What she needed to hear. So she wrapped her arms around herself again. "Yea," she acknowledged. "I mean … I need some time after that too."

"Erin," he spat at her a bit more harshly, "It's not about time. Or tiptoeing around all the shit we tiptoe around with each other. That we … shouldn't. It's …" He gazed into the parking lot. Looking at the District building that likely felt so far away to him right now. She knew it felt very far away to her. Like a lifetime ago. "Why are you here?"

She shook her head and hugged herself tighter. "I just … I thought I should see you—"

"Before you left?" he pressed at her. "Again?"

She sighed and looked down. "Look, Jay, I don't know how to fix this. So…"

"You fix it by fighting for this. For all of this. For the people who care about you. For me. For Ethan. For Hank. Why is that so fucking hard for you?"

She clutched at her elbows tighter. She drew her arms even more firmly around yourself.

"Why are you here?" he pressed at her again. "When Eth is up at Med? With tubes coming out of him? When his plasma exchange is about to start? When he's basically blind? Why come back? Why are you here? If you aren't going to go and be with him for that?"

She shrugged. "He told me he didn't want me—"

"He's fourteen!" Jay spat at her. "He's scared shitless. He's drugged off his gourd. He doesn't know what he's saying. He doesn't mean what he does get out of his mouth."

And she just stared at him. "Hank said—"

But that only made Jay shake his head harder at her. "Erin, if you fought for any of us even half as much as you fight for Bunny…" he shook his head harder and wrapped his arms around himself. "A quarter," he corrected. "You. Your family. Your relationships. It'd be so much better. All of it…" He shrugged at her. "You wouldn't have left. You wouldn't have had to. Wanted to."

She tried to form a response but she didn't get a chance. Because he'd already turned on his heel and started to move back toward District.

"I'm not going to do this here," he told her. "And I'm not going to try to talk you into or out of something again. You'll do what you want. You always do."

"Jay," she called after him – weakly.

He gave her a glance and put flatly and simply, "I love you."

But it stung. In her chest and in her eyes. And he was still gone back inside before she managed to collect himself. Before she managed to throw something back. All she managed to do was slap up the heels of her hands into her sockets before anyone saw what he'd done to her. What she'd done to herself.

Again.

 **AUTHOR NOTE: Thanks for the feedback and support for those after the last chapter and AN. It's appreciated.**


	11. Chapter 11

**Title: The Way From Here**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Erin must deal with the consequences of her decision to take a position in FBI counter-intelligence at the expense of her relationship with Jay and her relationship with her family. But an emergency with her younger brother provides her with the opportunity to re-examine her choices and to try to rectify any damages to her relationships. This story takes place in the AU established in Interesting Dynamics.**

 **SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers in this collection from Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas, Scenes, Aftermath and So It Goes (including chapters/scenes in So It Goes that have not yet been written or posted). This series also contains SPOILERS related to the finale of Season 4 of Chicago PD.**

Erin nudged into Ethan's hospital room. She almost expected Hank to have sensed her coming down the hall and to be waiting to give her one of those silent stares as soon as she got into the doorway. But he wasn't. He didn't. He was slouched low in the chair on the far side of Eth's currently unoccupied hospital bed. Still in his blues that had turned white shirt years. That shirt was something he seemed to despise more than he took any pride in. Rather than an indication of all the years he'd put into the job and the city – and the rank he'd more than earned – he seemed to feel the color of his lapels instead labelled him as someone who was assumed to be out of touch with the reality of what it meant to be a cop in Chicago. How you needed to do the job – to do it effectively. A suggestion that he just ride the desk for the rest of his career. Supervise and run up case closure numbers for ComStat. Take credit for the work of others – the work of the team. And none of that was Hank's style. It wasn't his way of doing thing.

If anything that white shirt was likely a reminder of the last time he'd been sitting in a hospital like this. With Camille gone and Eth touch-and-go and Justin spinning so out of control that him even graduating high school seemed about as touch-and-go. It'd been glaringly apparent that Hank working the streets – and his C.I.'s - and running operations and stakeouts in Gangs that could have him out all-night and at all hours and sometimes for days at a time wasn't going to work anymore. Not as a single parent. Not with kids still at home. Detective running a Gang unit wasn't going to fly. After years of it being enough – and the kind of work that made him happy and stable enough to be both a cop and a dad and a husband – it wasn't anymore. He needed some of the stability that a supervisor gig gave. He needed the cash bump that came with the rank. And so when so much had already been stripped from him, and out of his life, in those weeks, he'd sacrificed another piece of himself. He'd given up being a detective. He'd given up running his game on the streets. He'd got his sergeant exam sorted – and he set into waiting for the slot … the potential desk job … that would let him take care of his family then. What was left of it.

Not that any of that had gone exactly as planned. Whatever Hank's real plan was. It wasn't like Erin had ever been exactly privy to the details. She never was. Though, she'd argued that even if things hadn't gone exactly as plan – that there'd been some pretty fucking significant hiccups that threatened the implosion of their family and their lives even more – that it'd pretty much worked out. It'd probably – at least on the job front – worked out better than Hank had hoped. Or maybe he got exactly what he wanted. Sometimes … more than sometimes … he had a way of doing that. Though, he was always so … fucking nonchalant about it. "Things worked out." One of his lines. Strange ones considering it often happened in succession with "Life's not fair". But usually also accompanied his notion that if you couldn't get into and out of something, you had no business being in his unit anyway. Sometimes Erin wondered how much of that notion applied to their family unit as well. Likely a lot.

Though, right now she was wondering how much he was going to be getting out of anything. How much she'd contributed to whatever he'd gotten himself into now. And just what implications that was going to have for not just Hank's job but for Intelligence. For everyone else in Intelligence. Their careers and futures. What that meant for the city as a whole.

Hank being in his blues, in the very least, clearly indicated that the Ivory Tower must've been jamming up his schedule that day. Dragging ass and keeping him in there. Maybe it'd been a longer conversation than he'd thought it would be. Maybe it involved a lot more than just a wrist slapping. Maybe you can't just go in for something like that and then in the next breath tell them you want personal leave. Maybe the negotiations around that – to bring someone else in to command … to supervise … didn't really mean you'd ever be going back to the unit you'd built. To all that hard work you'd done. To the sacrifices you'd made. And the ones your family had made. The choices you'd all gained from. And been hurt by. That maybe they were still being hurt by now.

But whatever had happened, Hank must've been in such a rush to get back for Eth's treatment that he hadn't bothered to find the time to change. And, Erin wasn't sure she'd believe that everything was all worked out when he left the Ivory Tower, because he was staring at his phone – reading and scrolling through something. She doubted it was anything good.

He must've sensed the movement in the door. He looked up. But it was like he expected it to be a nurse or doctor checking in on them. She wasn't that. And Erin braced herself for him to put forward a firm – whether silent or not – indication that she wasn't welcome to set foot inside. But he didn't. He just gazed at her.

And she took that. She took that opportunity to shift her eyes to the opposite side of the room where an unfamiliar sound was coming from. And she took her turn to gaze. At her little brother.

Eth was set up in the recliner and seemingly asleep. Somehow he looked bigger than the night before in that set up. Not as dwarfed by the hospital bed. But there were more wires and tubes attached to him. Her eyes scanned the additions. A feeding tube and its bag of nutritious sludge. Something was attached to his ear and there were little electrodes running down the same side of his body. But the largest tubes ran away from him to a large machine – whooshing and sloshing and clicking like a metronome – as his dark blood ran into it and was spun and cleansed and mixed with something else that near looked like urine only to be pumped back into him. The mechanical beeps and clicks and whirls that if you sat there long enough maybe you could pretend it was a white noise machine. Like the waves of the lake on a windy day on the waterfront. Only not really. Not what the beeping and tones of his heart rate and blood pressure was being monitored too. Not when there were more bits of technology attached to his fingers and wrapped around his arm. Not when she could see the tubes running under his gown and up his leg. Not when there were more bags on stands around him than the night before and she still couldn't identify what was what in what they were pumping and dripping into him. Because her practiced eye – her educated understanding of his treatment – was gone. Because this was a whole different playing field. And she didn't know what she was looking at anymore.

"It's the plasma," Hank said behind her and she turned to find his eyes splitting their focus between her and Ethan. He just nodded. "That's what's been separated from him. Other one's what they're mixing it with to put it back into him."

Her eyes shifted back to the odd colored fluids and bottles attached to the machine.

"Looks like it's going to be a while …, she allowed. It was hard to tell. She was staring at the flowing tubes, trying to determine the current of where what was moving where.

Hank just grunted. "A bit," he allowed. "Doing sixty percent of his plasma today. See how he tolerates it."

She nodded and stared at Eth. "Is he?" she asked. "Tolerating it?"

Hank just made another sound. She glanced at him again. His eyes were set on Eth. "Had an allergic reaction to whatever they've got in the mix for pumping the blood cells back into him. The artificial plasma. So gave him something for that." He shrugged. "Sleeping a bit with it. In and out."

She sighed and forced herself to stop staring at her baby brother. To stop herself from having flashbacks to those seven years ago when Eth was again hooked up to more machinery than could ever look natural on a human being. Let alone a little boy. To seven years ago when Hank was again sitting beside a hospital bed trying to look stoic. When he wasn't. That she knew he'd gone off the leash that time. But that wasn't something they never talked about. Details she didn't want to know. Though, she suspected she knew all too intimately now after last year. After she'd played her own role in what amounted to Chicago justice. How it could be funny how it worked in the city. Especially when cops – generational police – got involved.

No one was dead this time. Hank couldn't go as far off-leash anymore. It seemed to have been a reality he'd come to accept. That a misstep now and he'd lose all he had left. A misstep now and his little boy would be growing up – if he made it that far – without a father. That his grandson wouldn't get to know his grandfather. But that only reeled him in so much. It might not have reeled him in enough to save his career – or Intelligence. Not if the Ivory Tower was really gunning for them. And they always were. It seemed. So there still might be something dead as a result of all of this.

And that was another reason Erin had to pull herself away from the stare – from the self-reflection – because she was only going to start spinning again about what role she played in it all. How this would've – could've – played out differently if she'd been there. How she just wrecked all the good things that she came into contact with.

"How'd it go with you?" she asked instead. A distraction but maybe a way to try to gauge how much more guilt to layer onto herself. How much harder she should be on herself. But this time she thought she likely deserved it. Still.

Hank just shrugged, though. "Went," he provided. "They asked some stupid questions. Said some stupid things. Usual bullshit."

"Are they letting you keep Intelligence?" she pressed. He just made a noise. It wasn't even one of his grunts. It wasn't a yes. It wasn't a no. It was just a noise. An acknowledgement he'd heard the question. "Are they going to grant you leave?"

That did get a grunt. But he just shuffled his phone in his hand. "Thing's will work out," he put flatly, glancing at the screen.

She stared at him now. She tried to gauge more where he was at. And maybe is was scaring her a little that she couldn't. She really couldn't get any read on him. He didn't seem angry. He didn't seem like he was on a mission. She couldn't anticipate any of his plays. If he even had them. But he always did. And right now it didn't seem like he did. Not beyond sitting there and listening to that machine as Ethan slept. Watching the tubes and the swirling dials and the drip and flow of blood and liquid chemicals.

But he seemed at ease. He didn't seem even that tired. He just seemed at peace with the circumstances. More so than anyone should in that situation. Yet, it was a calm she wanted to know. To feel. To learn herself. For it to be a state that wasn't just another illusion. One that you only created by shoving your hands in your pockets to hide the shake. The shake that felt like it was going through her whole body for the past twenty-four hours. The one that she didn't feel like she'd done a very good job at hiding. And one she just wanted to end.

"Is it okay if I stay a bit?" she asked.

"Think you should," he smacked.

She stood again for a moment. She weighed the tone. She questioned if he was going to tell her off. If he was going to lecture her. If that hadn't been an invitation – a confirmation – but a rhetorical statement where the tone was the answer. And the answer was no. But she must've lost her ear for Hank's rasp too. Because he'd leaned behind him and pulled the extra chair closer. The sound doing nothing to stir Eth out of whatever drug-induced stupor they had him in in that moment. And then he looked at her expectantly. Gave her another smack.

And Erin allowed him a thin smile. She let her concrete shoes move over and she sat next to him. She sat next to him and she stared across at the broken little boy.

"You got something for me," Hank intoned next to her.

She glanced at him. Squinted. Oblivious until he nodded at her lap. She looked and shook her head out of the daze she'd been walking in. The daze that … she didn't know how long it'd been going on. But it'd been longer than twenty-four hours. That much was for her.

"Oh …," she muttered and handed the donut box to him.

"You cheer me up," he rasped at her, lifting the lid. A phrase she wasn't expecting to hear from him. Not that day. Maybe not ever again. But it hung there. To her. It rung in her ears. He'd said it flatly and naturally. Just like he always did. It was part of his repertoire. A phrase that he handed to her near exclusively. Though, she had trouble believing she was doing much of anything to cheer him up that afternoon. That she had in her power to di that at all. Or ever again.

"Don't get too excited," she warned mutedly. Because it was all she could manage. "It's that place. By RIC. He'd been bugging me about stopping there. For weeks. Months…" She'd never taken him. She should've. But she didn't. Just like a lot of things she should've but didn't do. "I don't know gluten-free, vegan can really be called donuts."

"Mmm …," Hank grunted. He'd selected the buttermilk old fashioned. The one she knew he'd pick – that or the Michigan Apple Fritter that was also in there. So she'd gotten it specifically for him. Even though she knew Hank never had much of an appetite. But apparently he did right now. And that seemed strange too. He held the lid open, back on offer to her. "They're decent. Wanted them for his birthday. Not cake."

Erin gave him a sad smile at that. The added reminder of things she should've been there for. Should've done. And wasn't. The added reminder that Hank … he was a good dad. That he tried. So hard. That he went outside of the lines — his lines — in doing that. In figuring out how to be Dad and Mr. Mom too. In how to take care of his kids —his family — as a father, friend, boss and cop. The disciplinarian tough guy who could be something completely different with his kids when he wanted to be. When he needed to be.

But she only shook her head at the proffered donuts and Hank just leaned forward to put the box on the hospital bed. For it to wait for Ethan. To see if she could do something … for him, for them. To at least entice him to eat. To entice him to interact with her? To buy his forgiveness? To get him to speak to her? In some small way …

She stared at Ethan. And she felt Hank staring at her. She glanced at him. He caught her eyes and nodded.

"It's going to work out, Kiddo," he told her.

She frowned and shock her head. "How?" she said and shifted her eyes back to her brother. Because she didn't know how all this — any of it — could be alright.

Hank made that silent hum of acknowledgement. There wasn't an answer. Because he didn't give those kinds of answers. You got into things. You had to get out of them. You needed to figure it out. But for the lack of words there was suddenly a hand sitting on her shoulder and then reaching to gently cup the back of her head. To gently tug just for a moment the hair there to give her head a little shake. A sign of affection that he'd bestowed on her for more than half her life now but one that he hadn't done in a while. Months. And she shifted her surprised eyes back to him. He looked at her just as gently as his hand held her head – like she still was a little girl, maybe littler than the girl he'd ever brought home.

"Erin, it's going to be alright," he told her more directly. And she knew then — for certain — he wasn't just talking about Ethan. About his health. That it was directed at her. At them. At the whole situation she'd gotten herself in. The one she'd dragged them all into. The hurt she'd caused. The hole — that she'd left in her family with her choices and the one she'd crawled into on her own. The one that was going to be pretty hard to get out of. The one she wasn't sure there was an easy way out of. And even more terrifying was she really didn't know what the world outside that dark pit was going to look like when she figured out how to get back to ground level either.

But Erin nodded. Because she wanted to believe him. That somehow — all of this — it was going to be alright. She really wanted to believe him. She needed to. She needed that.

And maybe believing him – trusting him again – that should've been something she'd let herself do months ago too. Maybe things would be different if she had. Maybe they could be different if she could now. And that's what she needed the most. For it to be alright. Here. Back. Now. Somehow.

 **AUTHOR NOTE: Thank you for your support and comments.**

 **The next chapter will be a continuation of this scene with Erin/Ethan heavy dialogue and Hank inclusion. The next two chapters after that will be Erin/Jay.**


	12. Chapter 12

**Title: The Way From Here**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Erin must deal with the consequences of her decision to take a position in FBI counter-intelligence at the expense of her relationship with Jay and her relationship with her family. But an emergency with her younger brother provides her with the opportunity to re-examine her choices and to try to rectify any damages to her relationships. This story takes place in the AU established in Interesting Dynamics.**

 **SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers in this collection from Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas, Scenes, Aftermath and So It Goes (including chapters/scenes in So It Goes that have not yet been written or posted). This series also contains SPOILERS related to the finale of Season 4 of Chicago PD.**

E made a little sound of pain, his face cringing with discomfort, as the nurse fiddled with the tubing up at his collar bone. His eyelids flickered a bit and Hank watched as they fluttered open, his chin tilting for him to try to take a look at what the nurse was doing.

"Sorry there, handsome," she shushed at him gently.

This real tone where you know she had a lot of her own kids at home. Likely boys. Just as likely that some of them had brought some grandkids into her life. Ones she was embracing despite whatever circumstances were around their conception and arrival in their household. Suspected their might be some baby mama's – that may or may not have turned into daughter-in-laws – kicking around her house too. Living off her pay check at the hospital, which could only be so much. Had that look about her. That tone about her. No nonsense but some empathy there. A touch with kids. But an age and weariness in her that said she'd seen a bit too much on the job – been doing it too long – and was at the age she'd at least be starting to think about retiring but that it wasn't anywhere near being an option yet. And liking her job – or at least seeing value and meaning in what she did for that hospital and those kids and the families in Med and the city as a whole – wasn't the real thing holding her back from retiring.

"Just checking the flow here," she told Magoo.

He made another small noise and turned away from her. His eyes scanned right passed where him and Erin were sitting. Rotated over to the TV up on the wall and stared blankly at it – like he could see it any better than he'd been able to tell two other people were sitting across the room.

"It hurts," E muttered.

"Mmm-hmm," the nurse allowed him and looked at the skin around the tubing. The skin where she'd pulled down his gown a touch to take a better look at what she was checking in on when she'd wandered in to stare at the machine and its dials only to shift her attention to all the hydraulics running out of his boy. Apparently she decided she'd needed to take a better look at the state of things rather than just noting the levels still in those bags and the numbers on the machinery. "You're a little red, Hun. Normal but think we're going to slow down the speed of this magic potion getting back into ya a bit. How about that?"

E just made a sound. Wasn't much of an agreement. Or even an acknowledgement. But his boy wasn't really in the state to be doing any brow-beating about him showing a few manners. Didn't think the nurse really expected him to be showing any anyway. Sure she'd been treated a lot worse over the years than some teen-aged kid pretty much just acting like a dismissive teen-ager.

She looked at him instead. "I can see about getting him something for the pain," she offered. But Hank made his own dismissive grunt at that. Didn't need Magoo living in extra pain but thought the kid was more in discomfort than pain at the moment. Didn't need to be pumping extra chemicals in the system if they weren't needed either. So the nurse just allowed a little nod. "I'm going to have the doctor come in and take a look at the port. It looks like there might be a little back-up with the line."

Hank allowed another grunt at that. Hated how they put these fucking ports and lines into this kid. Hated more that the decision to add the latest had been pretty last minute. Fucked up his day. Fucked up Magoo's headspace going into this treatment too. But the shit was shoved into him now. Not much more to say or do about it – beyond making sure they hadn't fucked it up getting it rammed in there. Didn't need an added layer of infection added to any of this mess.

"I'm just going to check the other artery," she said. Wasn't so much a request as it was some forewarning. Giving him the option to say no if he wanted, but he only nodded at her. "I'm just going to lift your gown, Ethan," she gave as added warning. "Check that tube out."

E's head rotated back to her as she made the move – adjusting the blanket and the flimsy material that they had over top of him at the moment. "Where's my dad?" he muttered, squinting down at the movement he was feeling but his eyes still looked unfocused. The question only proved it.

"Daddy's right there, Honey," she offered with a little nod across the room.

E's eyes again tried to scan over there but only sat lopsided in his general direction. They rotated back to the TV. "Are the Cubbies winning?" he asked weakly.

"Hmm …," Hank grunted and gave Erin's hand a tight squeeze before he dropped the grip and pressed himself up. "Not sure," he allowed and treaded over to where the remote had gotten left. Wasn't too much point having the TV on. Couldn't see it. But supposed that didn't mean he couldn't hear it. And wasn't going to bust the kid's bubble about what time of day it was for a game to actually be on. If a game was even on. But figured might as feel put it on Sports Center. There'd be some kind of highlights from some MLB meet-up that could add to the white noise in the room for a while. "Let's find out."

"Not going to introduce me to your new fair lady visitor, Ethan?" the nurse said as she settled his gown back into place.

E's head rotated again. Moving from the TV to across the room to the nurse. "Aunt Trudy," he mumbled and then let his head move back around to the sound of the sportscasters that Hank was working on getting to fill the room.

But he made a small amused noise and shifted his eyes back across the room too. The hand squeeze and the movement and activity in the room had managed to stir Erin awake. She was working on getting herself sitting up straight in the chair again from how she'd slid down in her drowse. Working at flattening out her hair a bit with her fingers. Rubbing at her eyes. Still didn't look her best – far from it – but doubted she'd much appreciate being mistaken for Trudy. Least not on appearance sakes.

It was good she'd slept some, though. Could tell she still needed it. Still needed even more than she'd gotten. But at least it was a start. And all that monotonous beeping, the slightly too warm room, had a way of lulling you off. If you let it. Sometimes you had to let it. Was glad she had. Even though he'd seen her fighting against it for a while. But her exhaustion had given out. Was fighting a bit of an uphill battle with it on a physical, mental and emotional front. When you're surrounded on all sides, eventually it gets hard to beat it all down. Least in this case it was just some shut-eye that had won out.

They hadn't done much talking. That was fine. Didn't feel like she was at the point she was ready to have a real conversation yet. Hadn't had enough time to process and work through where she was at. Where they were all at. To just digest and decompress. It was going to take some time.

Erin had always been one who needed some time any way. It was when she reacted without thought that she got herself in trouble. Always had been. Let emotions get the best of her. Flapping her lips without thinking to get her point across. And even though she had some good gut instincts, she still didn't always trust them. And even if she did – didn't always listen to them as well as she should. Charged into them and then got all disoriented – surprised – when she ended up in that dark spot. When she stepped on that banana peel and went sliding right along that path she shouldn't have picked. Did a whole lot better when she took the time to sort herself out. Get her head on straight. Sometimes that took a bit longer than he had patience for – as a man, father or cop – but also knew as a father and a boss that the thought process and the organization lead to a whole lot better outcome with her.

And didn't really matter any way. If she had thought she had wanted to go another round with him then – would've shut her down. Not the time or place. She might need to have some real discussions with Magoo. But Magoo didn't need to be privy to any of the grown-up talk that him and Erin needed to work out there.

Had their own baggage to work through. Had their own actions and consequences to discuss. And still wasn't much point in discussing any of it until she made her mind up about what she was doing and started putting a plan into action about how she was going to do that. Until then any more talk they were going to do was just going to be blowing hot air out of both their asses. Didn't have the time of day for that. Waste of breath.

But Erin had just sat there. Sat there staring at her brother. Had to say she looked about as broken as Magoo in her own way. Or ways.

There'd been a point where she'd reached out and found his hand.

It was funny how kids did that. Your kids. They start doing it when they'd barely taken their first breathes in the world. Grabbing at your finger. Grabbing and holding at them until you're holding them up to guide them along for their first steps in life. And then doing it a whole lot more when their little guys. Walks in the park or through the parking lot. Pressing the button on the crosswalk. And those first days of school each fall. Tugging you along over at Wrigley's. Pointing out Sue in Field. Apple orchards and down the block on Halloween – all done up. And holding on for dear life when the waves got real big but you waded in with them anyway on the shores of Lake Michigan.

Those squeezes got less as they got older. Especially with your boys. Stopped before hugs stopped. Didn't end quite the same way with daughters. He'd learned that. Though, it was different with Erin. She'd never been one to initiate hugs with him. Only a handful of times over the years. Eventually she'd accept them – if he offered them. And he had. Because there were more than a few times the kid needed them. But hand-holding was different. There were lots of times her hand hand managed to find its way into his. Sometimes looking for comfort. Sometimes offering some of her own – in a way she was comfortable with. Sometimes it was just a silent thank you. In her cap and gown at her high school grad. In her dress blues at her Academy graduation. Little acknowledgements of her own happiness of seeing one of her brothers excited – a silent 'look'. Maybe there was a 'thank you' somewhere in it too. But there were just as many other times where the hand squeezes weren't quite as happy times. Hospitals. Funerals. Courtrooms. Moments before or after life changed. Took them for a spin around again.

Hank knew you couldn't go through life holding your kids' hands. Didn't really turn them into productive, contributing adults or citizens. Didn't prepare them for the reality that was life and the world. Been lots of times that he'd thought maybe him and Camille had held all their kids' hands a little too much. That maybe that showed in the people they turned into. Some of the problems they'd had as a family. Some of their challenges and losses. But at the same time he didn't think holding your kid's hand some was a bad thing. Sometimes it wasn't about you guiding them through the gauntlet. Sometimes it was just about them trying to get some strength and comfort to find the courage they needed to make it over whatever bump they were at. And doing that was something he could manage. Something in the parental job description. And if you could manage that with some hand holding – a good squeeze – was there so much wrong with that?

Thing was he knew there were things he needed to get said to Erin before she decided what she was doing. Before she disappeared back into the woodwork. Though, he sure wished that a lot of it was something he could get through to her with as few words as possible.

Really wished she'd heard him before when he'd told her she was about the best thing that ever happened to him. That he'd meant it when he said it. That he'd felt it before he'd said it. And that it'd become even more apparent since E had been home. That she wasn't just the best thing that ever happened to him – that she was the best thing that ever happened to their family. The best thing that ever happened to Magoo. That six weeks with her gone had just driven that home even more. Because as much as he'd had to be a single parent after Camille was gone – he'd had an adult daughter. An adult daughter who'd helped get Justin through that last year of high school. An adult daughter who'd carried a whole lot of weight in caring for E for the past two years. For the past seven. An adult daughter who, when it'd really fucking felt like his whole world was falling apart, she'd managed to understand – to sacrifice – to be about the only thing he had left, that Magoo had left – and she'd helped keep the family together. And he knew that hadn't been easy. Knew she'd made decisions and choices and sacrifices in that that were weighing on her. That changed their relationship and maybe drove some wedges – but again just showed that she was important to their family. To them being whole in what they had fucking left. That she'd shown abundantly clearly that she was his _adult_ daughter. A grown-up. An important voice and powerhouse and decision-maker in the family. And that he had to start fucking listening to her a bit more.

That he could fucking figure out a way to tell her in the fewest words possible, that E didn't need a mother. That he had a mother. But that the kid had only gotten to have a mom for seven years. That Hank was so fucking aware – even more aware now – that Erin might just be Magoo's big sister, but she was a whole lot more than that. That he understood that. That he appreciated it. And that Ethan needed that. Because Erin was able to give him – do things for him and be things for him – that Hank wasn't able to.

And that gap had been so much more fucking apparent the past six weeks. That he wasn't a very good single father when he didn't have her right there. That, right now, he really didn't have a handle on how any of this was going to play out. That he didn't fucking feel like the doctors had a handle on what was going on with E – so how could he get a fucking handle on the rest of it. How he wasn't too fucking sure how to be a single parent leading a unit that had the hours it did when he had a kid in high school. Not without that kid not getting enough supervision and support and finding a whole lot of trouble. But he really didn't fucking know how to keep the job if he had a sick kid on top of it. He didn't know if he should take a fucking desk job. Let himself get benched. How to manoeuvre with the fate of Intelligence – when he'd spent four fucking years fighting for it. If he should just let the Ivory Tower go after his badge and deal with the union and legalese bullshit. That he wasn't sure what life fucking looked like if he wasn't a cop. What that would mean for his family – his boy. But he really wasn't too fucking sure how he got Magoo through to adulthood now. What adulthood even looked like for E. When this would ever end. Or the other extreme that it was going to end too soon. And he wasn't even going to start trying to get a handle on that either. Not right now.

Hank really fucking wished he'd done a better job at talking and getting through to Erin over the years. That at this point in his life – her life – he didn't know much how to say any of it now. How to get through to her. Especially if she was going to be disappearing into the ether again. If that was her choice. Still.

He didn't know how to tell her that now really wasn't – it hadn't been – the time to make a change. Even though that's the decision she'd jumped on. When what she'd really needed to do was to just relax. Take it easy. To just listen. To understand that she was still young. That even in her thirties she still had growing to do. She still had things to learn. And that that was okay.

He wanted her to know that there was no shame in settling down. That she was allowed to. That she didn't have to keep running. Not anymore. That even though the city might have bad memories – some that she created for herself – that it wasn't a bad place. It could be home. It was.

She was allowed to find a boy. A man. She had. She was allowed to get married. Have a family over her own. She was really allowed to want that. It wasn't playing house. It was living your life.

He wanted her to take a look at him. To know that he understood. That he was like her once. That he had a whole lot of trouble settling down. To make the concessions to reign in the anger and the sense of loss. The need for revenge. To plug up those missing pieces in your life somehow. He knew it wasn't easy. Knew it was harder when you felt like you had things on the go. A job to do. Or things to get you going. Or going away from. But you had to keep in perspective what you had too. What you got – it wasn't always going to be there tomorrow.

He wanted her to know that he got it. But that he had made his choices. He'd found a girl. He'd married. He'd had kids. Grew his family. He took on that job. And even though that had implications for his other job – even though it hadn't fixed all the holes he had in his life and that it came with its own fucking heart-wrenches and mind-fucks – that he'd had some real years of being happy.

That Erin should know that. Understand that. Because she'd been there for a bunch of them. That her, Magoo, Henry – they were on the list of things … people … who still kept some of that happy in his life. Reminded him of the need to stay calm. To know that he hadn't settled. He'd gained. And for her to understand that he'd been waiting … hoping … for her to bring some more people into his life that'd do that too and again. That maybe she already had – for Magoo – because Halstead sure meant a whole lot to her baby brother. But he'd prefer those new people be ones with her eyes and those dimples. To bring some extra pains in the ass and sass into his life.

But it'd always seemed like when he'd try to figure out a way to express any of that to her, she'd turn away. Again and again. Same with J. It'd taken years before he thought he was getting through to him. And just when it felt like he was starting to turn that corner – to calm, to settle, to be happy – it'd been taken away. And he didn't want to see that repeat with his girl.

He just needed her to sit down. To listen. To take it more slowly. These decisions. To talk to him. To find a way that didn't mean she felt like she had to go away.

For her to understand that her choices had kept people up at night. When she was a kid and now. There'd been tears. That she wasn't the only one bruised in all of this. But that he was sorry for any of the bruising he'd caused her that pushed toward the flight.

But she needed to know too that she had a lot to love to give. That she had a big heart. That she'd always been generous with the choices she made in how she handed it out. But what she really needed to understand was that for all that love and care and sacrifice she had in her – she was just as worthy of being on the receiving end of that. That she deserved it. And she really needed to understand that love – it's a real thing. It doesn't betray you or enslave you. When you had people who really loved you – cared about you, sacrificed for you – it set you through. And it made it easier to settle. To be happy. To make your own sacrifices. And for it to not really seem that way. But that by allowing herself to be loved – and cared for and supported and sacrificed for, by believing she was worth it – it'd be what would finally let her be the woman she was meant to be.

She had the pillars there to achieve that – to get there. She had family. Friends. A man. A partner. Had a little brother and baby nephew. And no matter how she wanted to define it – she had him too. But she had to make that leap herself. To let herself believe it and feel it. He couldn't do that for her. And he'd long ago learned that you can't fix things that are broken on the inside for your kids. No matter what you do –that's not something fixable. So holding their hand while they tried to work up the courage to get through that hump, just fucking trying to be patient in waiting for them to be fucking ready to listen – it was the best you could do. And then you had to hope they'd make the fix themselves. That they'd find their path – the one you'd been trying to guide them down all along. Because you loved them. And they were worth it. And the wait for them at that fork in the road.

So for the moment he just cast a look over at that nurse, he jutted his chin over in Erin's direction. "My daughter," he told her. "Erin."

Magoo's eyes drifted over across the room, squinting, a bit of surprise and a touch of calm washing over his face. But the nurse just gave him a gentle smile.

"Gorgeous children and gorgeous grandbaby," she put to him. "Somebody's a lucky guy."

He gave her a little nod at that. "Yeah, most days," he rasped, gazing over at his girl. Because even the ones that weren't so lucky – knew he'd won a few lotteries in his time.

And knew too for all the curves life kept throwing – you just kept fouling them out. Eventually some magic would happen again. And that wasn't just luck. It was putting in the work and being ready to run the bases. He was. Really hoped she knew that too. That she was too. That she was looking for those pitches in her life too. Listening for them. And she was ready - not to strike out. To make the run home. That's what she was working at winding up to.

 **AUTHOR NOTE: Decided Hank chapter was necessary. When another chapter is posted it will be the Ethan/Erin one.**


	13. Chapter 13

**Title: The Way From Here**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Erin must deal with the consequences of her decision to take a position in FBI counter-intelligence at the expense of her relationship with Jay and her relationship with her family. But an emergency with her younger brother provides her with the opportunity to re-examine her choices and to try to rectify any damages to her relationships. This story takes place in the AU established in Interesting Dynamics.**

 **SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers in this collection from Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas, Scenes, Aftermath and So It Goes (including chapters/scenes in So It Goes that have not yet been written or posted). This series also contains SPOILERS related to the finale of Season 4 of Chicago PD.**

Erin held out Eth's glasses. He did his best to glare all lopsided in her general direction. But his hand eventually came out searching for them – swiping past them a couple times with her having to resist the urge to grab his hand and shove them in or just place them on his face for him – before he managed to find them and again worked at navigating them toward his face. She was sure he was going to stick himself the eye with one of the legs but did manage to dodge around them and get them settled in place. Though, as soon as he did that, he looked away from her and back to the TV sports highlights that Hank had turned on for him and stared purposely in that direction.

"You seeing any better with those?" she asked.

She doubted it. But she thought she'd ask. She knew from his previous bouts with much lesser attacks of the optic neuritis that the glasses did little to rectify the problem. They couldn't. Because it wasn't his eyes that were the problem. It was inflammation at the optic nerve. Lesions in his brain swelling or growing or appearing and wrecking havoc. Glasses don't cure that problem. Though, they'd previously found that when the bout started to pass that the glasses did help with some of the blurriness left in its wake. This time, though, she knew it was likely going to be different. That the usual treatment hadn't worked. That the vision loss – right now – was much more significant. She knew that him putting his glasses on was just a crutch – or maybe more like just wishful thinking. But she'd wish along with him.

"I'm still super mad at you," he mumbled at her.

Hank made one of his small grunts across the room. It got Eth to move his head just slightly in that direction. "Ethan," he warned flatly, but bluntly.

"Well, I am," Ethan added and moved his eyes – if not his vision – back toward the television.

"I know," Erin acknowledged.

There really wasn't much more she could do than that. She really knew. She was fully aware that pretty much everyone in her life – or at least her previous life, which is what it seemed it had really become both advertently and inadvertently in the past six weeks – were more than a little pissed at her.

But she reached to pull the chair over to sit closer to him in his recliner anyway. Even though he kept doing his best to pretend that he could see what was on the TV. Even though he was likely grateful that he didn't have to see her or look at her in that moment.

She sat there. And sat. It felt like the seconds were turning into hours. But she forced herself to try to be still. To just look at him. To try to wait. To give him time. The time he'd waited for her. The time she'd made him wait.

Still, she fidgeted and leaned over to retrieve from the rolling table on of the dinosaurs she retrieved from Ethan's room for Olive earlier in the day. She smiled at it a bit as she held it, feeling it in her fingers. She knew that the rough moulding on this one wasn't the reason Eth had wanted it but she also suspected that some of the ones on the list were because of the realistic groves in their scaly skin. Something he could still feel. Something he likely knew off by heart even before his sight had dimmed. Something that made her think of Camille. Made her think of the weight of her presence and her foresight – even all these years later.

Ethan's models. The ones from his parents anyway. They weren't dollar store or Walmart or Target hollow, made in China plastic toys. Those things were the ones that Eth had been spending his allowance on since he was a little boy. All them taking their turns taking him to the dollar store or one of those big box stores that Hank hated. Standing next to him as he picked out yet another baggie of little figurines or yet another bucket of plastic monstrosities. The ones that all looked the same no matter how many baggies or buckets you bought. You just kept getting the same ones over and over again. Not that that had stopped Ethan from wanting them for years. Not that when she was in the Dollar Tree with him now to pick up fucking craft supplies for yet another ridiculous school project display, that he still didn't wander over to the toy aisle and go through those baggies one by one, searching carefully to make sure they didn't suddenly make some new master mould over in China that meant there was a new piece of plastic he needed to add to his collection. The collection that now got used as counters to try to explain math to him. The collection that had once again taken up occupancy in the sandbox under the guise that they were for Henry to play with when she'd seen Eth out there – when his nephew wasn't over – more than once building a landscape and diorama for the toddler (allegedly) only for him to completely freak out when Henry did come over and destroy it all in T-minus three seconds.

But those pieces of plastic – they weren't on his list. Not his favorites. Those ones where the ones his parents had gotten for him over the years. Birthdays and Christmas. Because they weren't dollar store purchases. They were name brand. Papo and Schleich and Carnegie. The ones that were near museum quality – palentologist approved – in their size ratio and realism. In their careful modelling and colorful painting. The ones where Erin knew for a fact that went the smallest individuals figures came with about a ten dollar price tag and that some of the bigger and more intricate figures had price tags that ranged from $30-40. Big prices for a little boy. Big prices – a big budget bite – out of the kinds of gifts Hank and Camille usually gave, the kind of money they spent on birthdays and holidays.

And maybe that was the thing. Why Erin had a distinct memory of coming home one night. She couldn't remember if it'd been from one of her night school courses or if it'd been from clearing tables in her awful part-time job while she put in time until she was able to apply to the Academy, while she still worked at proving herself as an contributing member of the family and a grown-up who was working toward some sort of goal – to a real job, to a worthwhile profession, to do something for the city and with her life – the way they'd taught her. But she did remember that she'd come in the backdoor and that Hank and Camille had been sitting there at the kitchen table dealing with bills and arguing over budget.

She remembered that it was in the lead up to the Christmas season. And she knew that Eth must've been about three. She remembered that there'd been talk in the family about how Christmas was going to be fun that year. That Ethan was old enough to really get it. To really be into it. To believe. And that they were going to get to watch some of that magic. To relive it. To share some of the little family traditions. That it'd be fun.

But no one at the table was having much fun that night. She could tell as she took off her coat and stomped off her boots. As she listened to them argue back-and-forth. And she knew she was going to have to walk by them. That they'd likely heard her come in but hadn't stopped because they were so deep into it. Though, when they saw her they'd stop. That Camille might try to make some brief small talk – to ask about how her night had gone, if she'd eaten, that there were leftovers in the fridge. But it'd feel strained. Because she knew that Hank would be sitting there just looking like someone had pissed in his coffee. She'd been able to tell from the tone they were using with each other.

Hank and Camille. They didn't fight. But they fought a lot. Their arguments had completely changed her definition of what fights looked like in a relationship. The power struggle and the compromises and concessions that got made. The bickering. The talking and not talking. And what that meant and didn't mean when it was happening in the house – depending on how it was happening.

Erin sort of wished she'd had more time to observe it. To learn from it. To try to figure it out. Because she hadn't really been in a serious relationship before Camille was gone. She hadn't really been thinking that she'd ever even be that interested in getting married. She wasn't sure it was for her or that she'd be good at it or that she'd want to give up pieces of herself – to make those concessions and compromises – to have a relationship. And maybe now that she had … or had … a relationship – a real one – she wished she'd gotten to understand what Hank and Camille had had together better.

How they'd made it work. How they talked when they didn't talk. How they could both be as passive aggressive as they were overtly blunt. That she clearly saw moments that they pissed each other off. Or annoyed the fuck out of each other. That they were just angry at the other – a decision they'd made, an action they'd taken – but that she never doubted that they loved each other. That they cared about each other. That they were in it together until the end. And they had been.

Camille had wanted to buy – for Santa to bring – one of the fancy dinosaurs with the fancier price tags for Ethan that Christmas. It was a prospect that Hank was having none of. Not with Justin in Iggy's. Not with her taking night school and still living at home. Not with three kids mouths to feed in the house. Not with growing kids needing new clothes and boots and winter coats. Not with the roof needing reshingling. Not with the windows rattling upstairs and all the hot air and heating bill money leaking out of them. Not with the way the floors creaked in the house. Not with having to share the bathroom – that Camille wanted redone (something that there'd never been enough money for) – with two teenagers and a little boy who didn't quite have potty training down yet and definitely didn't have aim down yet. Not when she wanted the kitchen updated – with new appliances added. Not with the family vehicle likely needing replacing that spring if they could get it through winter. Not with the pile of bills sitting in front of them that was what they were supposed to be working through that night – not rearranging their pre-established Christmas budget that Erin had always gotten the sense was set up nearly immediately after Dec. 25th past each year and then was grown by quarters and dollars and fivers that they stole away each week by skipping take-out coffee and lunch out at work or on-shift and racked up the extra bits through over-time that took them away from the people they wanted to be spending time with all year – not just on a single day.

Hank wasn't putting in overtime, he'd argued at her firmly – in a way that Erin could feel even in the breezeway that he was jabbing his finger into the table to make his point – so to pay for some fucking thirty-dollar dinosaur. That they could get him a fucking lifetime supply for that kind of cash. That Eth was barely a preschooler. That Ethan wouldn't know the difference between one with a thirty-dollar price tag and one with a three-dollar one.

And Erin could feel Camille shift. She knew just as well as she knew Hank was jabbing at the table that Camille had crossed her arms and was giving him those eyes that made everyone in the family shut up and stand down. Even Hank.

She'd said fine. That she'd pay for it out of her Christmas money. That that's what she wanted the money used for. That there wasn't anything she wanted or needed anyway. And that Christmas was for the kids.

Hank had gravelled back a "don't be like that" or something along those lines. Because Camille could be stubborn. Beyond stubborn. Most of the time you knew exactly what she was thinking and she often didn't hesitate to let you know either. The Italian blood in her boiled hot. For a kind, caring, giving woman, she could also come tumbling down on you like a pile of bricks – like a flow of lava – if you weren't doing or behaving as you were told. As was expected of you. The lecture. The little speeches. The ones that stopped you in your tracks and got you to change course pretty quick. They were her speciality.

Erin could likely use one of those now. She likely could've used one six weeks ago. She wished she'd had them on a weekly or monthly basis for the past seven years where they'd just stopped. Where she didn't have that guidance anymore. And she never knew how much she'd miss it. How much – as an adult woman – she'd want it. Now.

Hank was the one who got a little speech that night. Erin remembered the words: "He's special, Hank." And at the time, at twenty years old standing the breezeway waiting for some sort of break in the tension to make a dash for her room, Erin hadn't thought much of it. She'd thought it was just a mother saying something nice about her kid. That it was very Camille. She thought all three of them were special – even in the next breath she was likely thinking they were hellions. But with time Erin had wondered if she'd meant more. If there'd been more to it than just a nicety. That she'd seen something in Eth or in the future for all of them that had somehow … left her with a gut feeling … and was trying to get her point across then.

She'd given Hank a little monologue. "He's special, Hank," she'd said. "He's not going to be like Justin. And he's not going to be like Erin. He's not you and he's not me. This dinosaur thing isn't going to be a passing little boy obsession. And if I have to have these things around my house for the next five, ten, eighteen - eighty – years, than at least some of them are going to be nicer to look at than broken pieces of plastic on my front room floor. And if you want to have any sort of real relationship with him, you better start accepting that and learning their names too."

Maybe Camille had just started to suspect Eth was somewhere high-functioning on the spectrum. That he was too smart for his own good for a little guy but he was also just such a little weirdo. So shy but so intense about the things he loved even as a toddler. How he motored mouth and it was all these facts and figures – and even words – a kid that age shouldn't know. How he was always moving so fast. Rapid fire with his thoughts and with his development. Jumping over crawling and straight into walking. Wanting on bikes and hockey skates while he was still fumbling around with his own balance. How he could run the bases – and the football field – already that Thanksgiving. How he just so wanted to keep up with his older siblings. All the love in the world for his Mommy and his Daddy and his big sister and big brother, but so scared of his own shadow if they were outside of arms reach. And maybe that was all it was. Then.

But somehow the words – the message – seemed more poignant now. It really hadn't been an argument about dinosaurs. Or even the Christmas budget. Or even the bills they had in front of them on the table. And maybe even what they were arguing about right then – it hadn't matter so much at the time. Ethan might've been … unique. Different. Gifted was what the school said when they got him there. But he hadn't gotten any other labels. Any other diagnoses. Not then. But those words – Camille's message – still mattered. Now. It had mattered for the past seven years. It would likely matter in some way for the rest of Eth's life. They'd needed to be heard and she'd had the chance to say them. To tell them.

Erin didn't know, though, how that argument ended that night. She'd managed to sneak by with them barely acknowledging her. She'd gone up to her room and closed the door. She couldn't remember if she heard their voices still in the kitchen. Or if she'd heard them go downstairs to the basement after they realized that at least one of the kids was awake and overhearing them. She also couldn't remember if she'd heard them both come the stairs that night. If it'd been one of their real arguments where Hank either stayed in the front room with the TV on low to eventually "rest his eyes" on the couch. Or he headed out the door to his social club to cool down and likely didn't come home until the end of his next shift. The other alternative was that the fight had ended in their other predictable way. That they'd gone to bed together. And that Erin had likely put on her headphones pre-emptively to avoid having to overhear any of the fight's end and outcome due to that possibility.

What she did know, though, was that Eth had received a Brachiosaurus from Santa that year. That near every year after that there'd be another one of those pricey dinosaurs at either his birthday or Christmas waiting for him. Something that still hadn't stopped, meaning that her baby brother now had a shelf in his room lined with them. Ones that he fiddled with endlessly ensuring they sat just right in some sort of historical and geological and biological order that she didn't pretend to understand – or want to know the details of. But she did know who won that fight. In the end.

"I was thinking about Parry today," she told Ethan as she ran her fingers along its side.

"That's not its name," Eth muttered at her but still didn't look.

She shrugged. "Who can pronounce its name?" she put to him.

He reached around and grabbed it from her, tugging it out of her hands. "Everybody. But you."

"Mmm …," Erin allowed. "But I know the story of Parry."

Eth shifted. "He doesn't have a story."

Erin nodded slowly. "I'm pretty sure he does."

His eyes found her general vicinity again. The light around her. "He's the last one Mom gave me," he put harshly. "That's all."

Erin shook her head a little. "Your mom and dad gave him to you."

"Whatever …" Ethan mumbled and shifted his eyes in the direction of the television again.

"Yea …," Erin nodded, staring at the dinosaur. "But it was actually your dad who bought him for you."

"Erin," Hank warned across the room. Her getting that firm rasp now. The one that indicated that he didn't think now was the time. Nor that there'd ever be a time to disrupt the careful narrative that had been created for Ethan about Camille. About who she was and what she was and what her final weeks and months with the family had been like. About how much she'd loved Ethan. Loved all of them. But Erin didn't buy that this changed any of that narrative at all.

So she just met Hank's eyes briefly and continued.

"Before your seventh birthday, your mom was actually working a lot of hours. Doing her fish stuff—"

"You always say that," Eth spat a little harder. "That's not what she did."

Erin shrugged. "Yea, I know. But her job was kind of confusing. I didn't really get it." She looked back to Hank. "What was she doing again …?"

He gave a little smack. "She was an icthyologist."

Erin raised an eyebrow at him. "That's helpful, Hank. Thank you."

That got another smack. "Team had a research grant. They were tracking invasive species. In the Great Lakes."

"There you go," Erin said and looked back to Eth. "She was real busy tracking invasive species in the Great Lakes that spring. So with your birthday rolling around – your dinosaur dig party – it was all hands on deck. Team effort. And that meant that your dad. He got tasked with two things. Buying the meat for the barbecue and finding a dinosaur for you."

She smiled a little. At the memory. At Ethan – who was finally giving her some glimmers of attention. But it was also hard.

It was hard to think about these things – to remember them. And it'd been bombarding her the past twenty-four hours. Just making the whole day more challenging than it already was.

It made it more confusing. It made her wonder and question her own sanity. Her own capacity to make any kind of decisions. Her own how and why she acted. Why she'd left. Why she felt like she had to. How she could let herself. How she'd let … Bunny … into her head like that. How she'd let her back into her life like that. How she'd let Bunny accomplish what she'd been wanting to do for seventeen-plus years. To break the family she had. To prove they weren't family. To make her feel that way.

But the thing was … you don't have memories like those that were flooding her if you weren't part of a family. A family that worked. And it hurt. It hurt to know … how much she'd had back then. Back when she'd had a mom and a dad and two little brothers. And a house. And support. A roof over her head and food on the table and these little traditions that happened through out the year and these little idiosyncrasies and routines that made up that home that she'd … grown-up in. Their annoyances and frustrations. But that it was still home.

But Bunny had seen the cracks. She'd seen that a lot of that place – in her memories – had been gone for a long time. That the cracks felt bigger anymore. But that she still had parts of that past too. More than just memories. But … it'd gotten confusing. It'd gotten complicated. She felt like she was being pulled too many ways. Like she was being forced to make allegiances. Like parts of herself – people in her life – were being stripped away. So she had to pick a direction.

She'd picked wrong. She'd picked so fucking wrong. And that was still reverberating through her as she tried to figure it out. Like a struck chord that just kept vibrating. Vibrating so much her whole being hurt. She just felt sick to her stomach. Yet it was the small things – the scraps of her past – that were providing any sort of comfort and distraction. Maybe the direction. To get her in tune with reality again.

"So, I don't know … like maybe a week before your birthday, your dad—"

"Stop calling him that," Eth put flatly.

She gazed at him. But slowly nodded. She gazed at the floor for a long beat and then brought her eyes back to her brother's cockeyed stare.

"About a week before your birthday Dad calls me. And he offers to take me out for a bite after shift. Now, your da—Dad…dy … he'd been working a pretty big case that year too. Big. He couldn't talk about it—"

"He can't talk about work," Ethan said. "Neither can you."

Erin nodded and allowed him a little frown but she reached and clasped at his hand around that dinosaur. "Yea, Eth, a lot of times he can't. I can't. Not the details. But … you know … sometimes when … with the job … one of us is working big or really important cases … it means … there's a few days … or even weeks … or months," she sighed a little and shook her head, moving her thumb down the dinosaurs back as she wrapped her fingers around her brother's fist, "… where maybe we don't get to see the people we care about as much as we want to. So … that winter … spring … Dad had … he'd been working a lot. He wasn't home as much as he would've liked. Or you guys would've liked. As Mom would've liked. I know that. And … you know I'd moved out by then, right?"

"Yea …," he allowed weakly.

She gave him a thin-lipped smile. "Yea …," she stared at the floor for a long while again. "So that meant I really wasn't getting to see Dad that much. And you … you know how Dad's … he's one of your best friends?"

"Yea …," Ethan said but then added with hastened edge, "You are too. Were."

Erin moved her thumb to wrap around his hand again. "I know …," she whispered. Though her eyes stung. "And I know … that week … when Daddy called and invited me out for dinner, I hadn't seen my … best friend … for a while. And, Eth, for a long time … y- … Our Dad. He was my best friend. For a while … he was my only friend. And I was … I was really glad that … when Daddy was so busy with work and had you guys to get home too and things were so hectic with getting ready for your party … and they were, I know, because I was helping Mommy too. So I was just … it meant a lot that Dad was making some time for me too. In all of that. And … you know that Dad knows all the good dinner spots when he's paying, right?"

Ethan made a face at her. "They're all like a hundred years old."

She allowed a quiet laugh. "The real Chicago, Ethan."

He groaned at her. It was one of Hank's lines. A line that made him sound older than he was. But also betrayed just how much the city had changed in his life. How much it had changed in hers too. And then, over time, peeled back all the ways it hadn't too.

"So … I thought …" she shrugged. "I don't know what I thought. But you know where Daddy took me for dinner?"

"Carmine's?" Ethan suggested.

She really let out a laugh at that and cast Hank a look. He made a small grunt and adjusted in his chair a bit.

"No …"

"Glenn's …?" Ethan tried.

She smiled at him. "So I could eat boxed cereal for dinner?"

Ethan shrugged. "That'd be pretty sweet …"

Erin grinned a little and nodded. Because there were a whole lot of periods in her life where boxed anything for dinner – microwave anything, open a can anything – would've sounded pretty good. Boxed cereal. That would've been a bit of a luxury. It wasn't cheap. And you needed to be able to afford milk too. And, Erin would admit, it was a luxury that she likely indulged in more than she should've after she moved out from the Voights. When even though Hank and Camille had more than taught her how to cook and had more than drilled into her the importance of eating a proper diet for body and mind. That canned and boxed and frozen junk with a side of chips and chocolate bars were not meant to be staples in a diet. But maybe after you'd spent a childhood scrapping by on dried pasta, canned vegetables and beans bought in bulk for a dollar or less, and ramen noodles – canned, boxed and frozen and enough income to be able to afford the candy bars at the corner store (without lifting them) seemed like a pretty big luxury. And maybe it all just seemed easier – more comforting in – to cook that way. An old habit of laziness when it came to food that maybe she'd never been able to entirely shake. Though, helping with Ethan had given her reason to. Living with Jay had given her reason to. Had.

"You're right," she agreed, though. "But I don't think Dad would like me ordering cereal at dinner." Or Jay, she thought. Unless it was oatmeal. And breakfast.

"Or any other time," Eth said. "You can only get cereal at Glenn's. Sugary junk."

"Mmm …," she allowed and cast Hank another look. His rules. His regulations. The little treats and rewards and bribes and privileges that both him and Camille had laced into their lives. Stupid little things that came to mean so much. That made up the fabric of … who … of what they were.

"So it would be an awesome dinner," Eth argued.

Erin smiled a bit more and stroked at his hand that stayed clutched so tight on the dinosaur. "You're right," she conceded. "But that's not where he took me either."

She saw Eth's eyes dart a bit. She could tell he was still trying to guess. Still trying to piece this together like it was some puzzle. The meticulous mind he still had in there even though it now moved much slower than he had when he was just a little preschooler, a grade schooler.

"He bought me a Vienna Beef. We ate in the car," she put flatly.

Eth processed that a bit. "Dad doesn't like eating in the car. Like ever."

"I know," she said and shook his hand a bit. "You think road trips with him are bad, try being suck in a car on stake out with him for twelve or more hours and not even being allowed to have a coffee."

"Coffee's gross …," Eth said.

Erin allowed him another thin smile and shook her head. "That night your … Dad … was okay with eating in the car, though. Because he was on a mission. You know what Dad says. The Eight Ps?"

The kid processed again. "… Proper Police Planning … Prevents … Piss Poor … Police … Performance."

Hank grunted mild approval from behind her But she didn't look that time.

"Right …," she told Eth and gripped at his hand again. The dinosaur again. "And … that's something … it's something we … our family … we … apply … we apply it in our daily life too. Right? Because it makes sense?"

"I guess …," Ethan allowed.

She nodded and stroked his hand again. "It's … it's why … Daddy has so many rules. And he … can be really strict. And there's routines and rights and responsibilities. At home. In our daily lives. Right?"

"Yea …," Eth said.

"Yea …," Erin said and held onto him. "Routines. Rules. Responsibilities. They … can be … really good. Really … stabilizing. They help … just … make things make more sense. Easier. Dad … he likes that. It … makes running a family easier too. I think. I'm learning. Being a family. I think it's … why Daddy is so organized … so strict about being organized."

Ethan just shrugged at her. But she knew … she really knew … that Ethan loved his routines. His schedule. That getting him off schedule just … threw him. It threw him and his health for a loop. And … she'd made a decision that had taken him way off schedule and outside of his routine. She'd spun his whole life on its head. And … not just his.

She was realizing that now too. She'd spun Hank's. Because the routine - the schedule - it was … how he'd coped with any of this. Being a single parent. Having a kid with a health issue. Having a job with long hours and big responsibilities.

Routine and schedule. Organization. It was how he tried to get everyone home at night. It was how he tried to get himself home at night. And … she'd fucked that up for him too.

Part of her didn't want to take responsibility for that. Because he was a grown man. Because he'd made his own choices. Because being a father – and a single parent – that was his own responsibility. But … it was her responsibility. He'd given her a family. He'd brought her into it. He'd given her rights and privileges in that. And that came with responsibilities. And she'd betrayed that. She'd walked away from it. Because … she picked a side. The wrong side.

"Dad had a plan that night. Because these dinosaurs," she told him, giving their joint clutch on the thing a little shake, "they aren't easy to find. So Dad had mapped out all the toy stores basically all across Chicagoland that he wanted to check out."

Eth's eyes scanned again. She could tell he was searching for Hank but likely couldn't really make much of him out where he was sitting.

"You coulda just like looked online," Ethan said.

Hank grunted.

"You know how your," she said and paused. "You know how Dad is about the internet."

"Then he coulda just called them," Eth said.

"I said about the same thing," Erin agreed.

"Was spending time with your sister," Hank rasped.

"Mmm," Erin acknowledged. "But I still wanted to know why I got the privilege of getting dragged across the city looking for a dinosaur."

"Because you cheer me up," Hank provided.

"He always says that …," Eth muttered. "Because you're his favorite."

"Don't have a favorite," Hank gravelled. "Love you all the same. Treat you all like your own people."

"But she cheers you up …," Eth grumbled.

She stroked her thumb at his hand. "Only some days," she allowed. "A lot more I'm just … another one of his pains in the ass."

Ethan pulled back a bit – taking his hand and his dinosaur with him. "This is a dumb story. It doesn't even have a point."

"I'm getting to the point," Erin put to him a bit more sternly. And then sighed internally. Because she knew she was still walking a tightrope with him. That using too much tone and attitude with him would just deplete any progress she was making.

"The point is … that finding this dinosaur," she said and once again reached for it. "It took forever. That we were in and out of store after store – because y—Dad had in his head that it was this species that you wanted and needed and it was the one you were going to get. Even if we had to drive to the next state, Ethan."

"Dad doesn't even know what this dinosaur is," Eth muttered. "He doesn't know anything about them or care about them or anything."

"Mmm …," Erin acknowledged. "You think that's true when we drove all over the place looking for it? When Daddy's still been buying you dinosaurs and taking you to the museum since Mommy died?"

"'Cuz he feels guilty," Ethan said. "'Cuz he got Mom killed."

Before Erin even realized it was happening her hand had flown up and gripped as his chin, bringing his diroriented eyes to her and his shocked face.

"Erin," Hank barked behind her.

She sputtered. She had to force herself to loosen her grip and let him yank his chin away.

"I'm sorry," she sputtered. "Just … Ethan … Eth … you don't say hurtful things about Dad because you're mad at me."

"It's true," Ethan muttered.

She had to grip her fist. "It's not true."

"It is," Eth said. "Justin said it all the time."

Her fingers dug into her hand. "Justin said it to be hurtful too. He said it because he felt his own guilt about that night."

Ethan shrugged. "You guys say it wasn't J's fault. So it must've been someone else's."

"It was," Erin pressed at him. "But not Dad's. It was the person who shot that gun. It was the driver who ran the light change. It was the mechanic who'd worked on the truck. The company manager who approved it being on the road when there were issues with the brakes. It was lots of people's fault. Not Justin's. And definitely not Dad's."

Ethan just shrugged again and Erin glanced over at Hank. He was trying to be non-expressive. Trying to put on the front that he'd heard it all before and he'd accepted that he was going to hear it over and over again. This blankness that made Erin believe that he honestly felt there was some truth in the statement. When there wasn't.

She shook her head and stared at the ground. Because she couldn't look at him when he was like that.

"Can I finish my story and then …," she shook her head again. "If you want me to leave you alone so badly. If you need me to leave so you aren't going to be saying … such fucking bullshit to the person who's been sitting with you day-in, day-out for a week Ethan. I will If that's what you want."

"Whatever …," Eth said.

Her eyes stung. The kick to her stomach radiated again. But she reached and pulled the dinosaur from her brother's grip and showed it to Hank. "What dinosaur is this?"

Hank just grunted.

"Hank," she pressed. "What dinosaur is this?"

Another grunt. That time with a smack. "One that sounds like a venereal disease."

"Hank," she muttered.

A smack. "Parasaurolophus," he put flatly. But she still saw Ethan's eyes try to search for his dad's. "It's a mouthful for all of us."

A smile tugged at the corners of Erin's lips when he gravelled that out. A reference that she doubted Eth had retained in his brain – because the Dinostory Toons that had played on repeat in the Voights' house from the time the kid was about a year old had never been asked for after his brain injury. After his memory loss. It was a mixed blessing. Erin thought they could all go without ever hearing any of the musical dinosaur ditties ever again. But Hank rasping that right now just sent her into another flashback into the family's front room. To bedtime lullabies that were dominated by dinosaur names. To being stuck in traffic with the cartoon's soundtrack on repeat. To Camille's singing. To Hank sending Eth off to get each figurines as a new song came on. To keep him entertained and out from underfoot. And if things were different – if this was six weeks ago – if she'd suddenly remembered the Dinostory Toons, she would've been looking them up for Henry. She would've seen if Hank still had the DVDs up in the attic or if Camille's ancient computer still had the soundtrack in her music files. She would've been YouTubing it and she would've been seeing if they captured her little nephew's the attention the same way as they had her baby brother's.

But instead – for now – she just smacked the toy back on Ethan's tray. "Dad knows more than you think. Cares more than you think."

Ethan shrugged. "Still a dumb story. So what. Dad bought the dinosaur. Not Mom. Whatever."

Erin gazed at him. "What I was going to tell you was about after your party. About after Dad put all that fucking effort into finding Parry for you, Ethan. That the following weekend – I was over too. That you and me and your mom we were out back. And you were playing with Parry. That you'd gotten distracted. That you left him sitting by the back door. That you'd gone down into the yard. And Dad –he'd come out … he'd just gotten home from work. He'd been … him and Justin were … he was handling something with Justin inside."

"Fighting," Eth said under his breath.

Erin shrugged. "Likely, Ethan. Because when Justin got to be about your age, he started trying to make life pretty fucking hard for all of us. Including himself. So your Dad was distracted. A little upset already. And he had come out. He had dinner to go on the grill. And he didn't see your dinosaur. He stepped on it. He ankled over. And he lost grip on the meat. It hit the ground. And Parry broke," she pressed and pressed her finger into the super-glue that Hank had eventually used to reattach the thing's horn. "And Daddy barked at you. Badly. About leaving your things in the middle of things. About not taking care of your things. And you were crying. Crying that Daddy was yelling at you. Crying that your new dinosaur was broken. And, your Mom, Ethan. Mommy – she came over and picked up the pieces. She picked up Parry. She hugged you. Looked your dad in the eye And she said, 'It's okay, Magoo. Roar means I love you in dinosaur.'"

Ethan tried no to look at her. He tried not to look at Hank. He tried to look at the TV screen. He tried to look at anything. But he griped at that broken toy in his broken body.

"And that's my point, Ethan," she pressed. "My point is that 'roar means I love you'. And I wish … I really fucking wish that … I'd remembered your mom – Mom – saying that. That I remembered that 'roar means I love you' along time ago. But, Eth … I remember now. I know now. So you can roar at me all you want. And so can Dad. So can Jay. So can everyone. Because I know you're mad. But I also know the reason you're mad – the reason you're still roaring at me – is because you love me. And me. I'm going to roar back. Okay? Because I love you too."

 **AUTHOR NOTE: This chapter didn't go as in-depth with Ethan and Erin convo as I had thought I would. But it got long. So I might do a continuation. Or I might move on. I'm likely going to have another Erin/Hank chapter before getting into a double Erin/Jay pair.**

 **I guess I'll take some feedback into consideration on that. But it will likely ultimately be how things write and how it feels writing it and what I feel like writing on the next day I write.**

 **Hope you enjoy this one more than the last one.**

 **Feedback, reviews and comments are appreciated.**

 **I'm hoping to have this story wrapped before the new season starts as I don't know I'll feel like writing much more CPD after it is back on the air.**

 **And on a side note … Erin Lindsay counter-intelligence in the Trump Era politics … while that would've made an interesting and relevant spin-off series. And even within this AU if Erin was/is still working for counter-intelligence in the past few weeks … especially with the kind of U.C. assignment and group I believe she would've been assigned to infiltrate … well, she would've been busy.**


	14. Chapter 14

**Title: The Way From Here**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Erin must deal with the consequences of her decision to take a position in FBI counter-intelligence at the expense of her relationship with Jay and her relationship with her family. But an emergency with her younger brother provides her with the opportunity to re-examine her choices and to try to rectify any damages to her relationships. This story takes place in the AU established in Interesting Dynamics.**

 **SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers in this collection from Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas, Scenes, Aftermath and So It Goes (including chapters/scenes in So It Goes that have not yet been written or posted). This series also contains SPOILERS related to the finale of Season 4 of Chicago PD.**

Ethan squinted at Erin. Like really squinted. To try to make her like more than the fuckin' blur in front of him. He tried so hard to process what she'd said. To try to get it to make like any kind of fuckin' sense. Like at all. And he knew he was stoned. Like so stoned. All he wanted to do was to like just close his eyes again. 'Cuz like it wasn't just his vision that was all fuzzy. It was like everything. Like he could hardly think. Basically nothing made any sense. But what she was saying made basically completely no fuckin' sense. Like at all.

"So like your point is that you left, that you like fuckin'—"

"Magoo," Dad said way too fuckin' loudly from somewhere on the other side of the room. Like he was fuckin' deaf and no just blind. When he didn't need like more noise and yellin' 'cuz his head was already just like cotton. Like gauze. But that might even be better. Made if he could just like stuff his head full of cotton his ears would stop ringing for maybe like two secs. And Dad tryin' to act all … basically himself right now was just so fuckin' fake right now anyway. 'Cuz Dad just … wasn't himself right now. Like at all. And like even if he was goin' to act like he was all mad or something – like how did he think he could even punish him or something? Like what would be worse than basically now anyway. Pretty much nuttin'. "Don't think you being in a hospital bed means your allowance can't take a hit."

Right. 'Cuz that was real punishment right now. For like anything. Like he really fuckin' cared about whether he got his thirteen bucks that week. At all. Like he hadn't just heard Erin drop the F-bomb and Dad not say anything. Like he fuckin' hadn't heard Dad gettin' all pissed at the doctors and sayin' a whole lot more than just like 'fuck'. Who fuckin' cared if anyone said 'fuck'?

If Ethan could see him. If he could fuckin' see him at all he'd so give him like a total stink eye. Like just fuck off. Drop the fuckin' lecture. Like turning even the fuckin' hospital room into an interrogation room. It was fuckin' stupid. Everything right now was just so completely fuckin' stupid. Life was fuckin' stupid. But he couldn't see Dad. That whole side of the room might as well like be wrapped in saran wrap. He couldn't see shit over there. Like at all.

So he just kept squinting at Erin. She was blurry and it still didn't look like Erin. Even the blur looked wrong. She didn't look right. And she didn't sound right. And she didn't smell right. And he didn't want to fuckin' listen to this like … fake Erin.

"So you're saying – your point is – that you quit your job and moved to another state and basically just left all of us, because you don't fuckin' know we love you?" Ethan spat at her.

"Ethan," Dad basically barked at him that time.

"It's okay …," Erin said all quiet like. Cuz she kept talking like that. Like she got to act all hurt and wounded or kicked or something. She was the one that had done the fuckin' kickin'.

"That's the most retarded thing I've ever heard," Ethan spat at her again.

"Don't use that word," she spit right back. Like her whispering talk was over 'cuz he'd gone and said something she didn't like. Like a word she didn't like. But when he said stuff that she should actually like have some sort of answer for all she can be like was 'it's 'kay'. It wasn't fuckin' OK. It was all fucked up. Just completely and utterly and totally. Like one hundred per cent. Nuttin' was OK and she was goin' to go at him about sayin' 'retarded'. Well that was fuckin' retarded too.

"I'm allowed to say it," he pressed at her. "I'm retarded."

"You aren't retarded," she contended.

"Fine," he spat again. "I'm disab—"

"You aren't that either," she said.

More fuckin' stupidity. "I am," he barked. "I'm allowed to say it."

"You're … brain damaged …" Erin threw out there. Like that was fuckin' any better than the other fuckin' labels that the whole world put on him. Like being 'brain damaged' was some how better than being retarded or disabled. Like it was somehow any different. 'Specially now. 'Cuz now he was like the brain damaged, crippled, sick, blind kid. Fuckin' awesome. Yea. Like everything was #A-OK. Fuck that fuckin' noise.

"Fine," he spat even harder. "Are you fuckin' brain damaged too? Because what you said basically sounds like you're more brain damaged than me."

"Magoo," Dad put to him across the room again, "got to calm down. Don't need a scene."

Ethan flapped up his arms. The fuckin' tubes and all these fuckin' adhesive all over him and this fuckin' gown. He was glad he couldn't see himself. 'Cuz he didn't need to see himself to know that the whole room was a fuckin' scene. He was glad he couldn't see how anyone comin' into the room was looking at him. Hearin' H scream and cry was enough to know that he looked … likely like some sort of mutant.

"I should go…" Erin said. She prolly was sayin' it to Dad. But Ethan didn't fuckin' care.

"No," he barked at her again. "Like … like you don't fuckin' get it. You … you fuckin' said that you wouldn't go. Like you told me so many times you wouldn't go. That you would be there for me. Always."

"Ethan," she sounded all hurt again. "I am there for you. I am here for you."

"YOU LEFT!" he yelled.

"Ethan," Dad warned again and he heard him move that time.

He flapped his arms again and tried to push himself up in the chair. He tried so hard to see Erin.

"You were the only one that hadn't," he told her. "The only one. And you just left. And now you're tellin' me that it's 'cuz you didn't know we love you and that just makes no sense …"

He had to stop talkin' 'cuz he could feel his throat getting all like clogged up with slime. Like he was goin' to fuckin' cry. And he wasn't goin' to do that. 'Cuz he cried like a baby already that day. And he wasn't goin' to give her like the satisfaction of knowin' that she'd made him cry too. And if he started cryin' again he knew that it would just get Dad all upset again. And he didn't need to see Dad to know whe he was all upset. And he didn't want to make Dad cry. 'Cuz he thought he'd already done that like … too many times that week. Even though Dad was tryin' to like not do it in front of him or when he was awake. But he could kinda like … feel it in the room.

"Ethan …," Erin sighed at him. "It's complicated."

He just … he just really tried to glare at her. And she sighed again. He could sort of see her – sort of feel her – move. He wasn't sure what she was doin'. But maybe like … something with her hair. Maybe that … color around her head … that was her hair. It didn't look like her hair. Not how he remembered it.

"Okay …," she sighed out. Like real slow. "Ah … well … I'd made a bad choice at work. So I wasn't really sure I was going to have a job anymore."

"What's that mean?" Ethan hissed. "That we didn't love you enough or that you love your job more than us?"

She made a sighing sound again. Like that was any kind of answer.

"And 'didn't think you have a job anymore?'" he pressed at her again. "Dad knows like everyone. You'd have a job. You work for Dad anyway."

More of that like sighing sound. "Probably not anymore," she said. "And not as a cop, Eth. Not here. Not in Chicago. Maybe not anywhere."

Ethan made his own huffing noise. "So, then, yes. Being a cop is more important than us."

More fuckin' sighing. "It's more complicated than that," Erin said. And made that noise again. "It's …"

"Don't think now's the best time or place for these talks," Dad said.

"Then, so what?" Ethan tried to direct at him across the room but he couldn't find him. Like he couldn't even catch a change in color or blurriness of some shape over there. So maybe Dad was standin' or sittin' or something somewhere else. "She just like gets to leave? Again."

Erin made that noise again. Like … like when you let the air hiss out of a balloon. Like all slow.

"I've just … had a lot going on for a while, Eth," she said.

"Like what?" he pressed.

He could sorta see her move again. Kinda.

"Like my mom … Bunny … has been around," Erin said.

"You aren't suppos—" Ethan started.

"She's my mother," Erin spat at him. Like real hard. Like the kinda hard that she shoulda used for all sorts of other things. But hadn't. "And, I know that's hard for you to understand – but she's my mom."

"Egg donor," Ethan said flatly. Like with total shade. 'Cuz that biatch was totally shade. And this shite was still all just complete fuckin' shite that Erin was talkin'.

That noise again. But this time it sorta sounded more like maybe kinda when you fall funny and get the wind knocked outta your lungs.

"Well, then you really won't understand that I wanted to find my sperm donor," she put back at him kinda all bitchy.

"What's that even mean?" Ethan pushed back tryin' to sound like as bitchy as she did.

"That my mom … was playing with my head a bit—"

"And that's why you aren't supposeda talk to her," Ethan argued.

"Well, I talked to her, Ethan," she pushed back. "And she made it sound like she wanted to tell me who my dad was—"

"Dad's your dad," Ethan said.

Erin made another noise. That one was different too. The same but different. "He's not, Ethan," she said. "Maybe there's been … a whole lot of times in my life I wanted to believe that. That maybe I even believed that. Or wished for it. But your—"

"Stop sayin' that! He's your dad too," Ethan raised his voice again. 'Cuz he really fuckin' hated when she got on like this.

"He's my dad," she conceded. "But he's not my biological father."

"So what?" Ethan pressed.

"Don't like repeating myself," Dad said, "but going to say again that, Magoo, you need to be keeping calm, resting during your treatment. And, both of you, this is a conversation for another time."

"She doesn't make any sense!" Ethan yelled across the room.

Into the fuckin' void. 'Cuz that's what they both were. It was what he could see and it was how they were actin'. Like they weren't fuckin' listening. They were like trying to live in some fuckin' fantasy and like still actin' like things were OK and like he didn't have a clue about what was goin' on with him. And he didn't want them to keep treatin' him like that. He didn't want to like go asleep again for them to like pretend none of this had happened or it was all alright. Or like he didn't remember. Like he'd been a dream or a coma or was just like the drugs. But it was happenin'. All of it. He could feel it in his whole body. Like he could feel all of it goin' to shit. Like just breakin' down. All of it. Life and reality and his body and his mind and his vision. It was all just one big fuckin' blur.

"Eth, it's like this …," Erin said. "It's like … you know how you miss your mom? How sometimes that feels like … a piece of you is missing?"

He just tried to look at her. Again. 'Cuz he didn't know what to say to that. 'Cuz like Mom was just as blurry as the rest of them. She was like more blur. And sometimes he just didn't fuckin' know what was real and what was like just stuff they'd told him. Like pictures. Or like smells. Like if it was all some sorta fantasy too that just wasn't real. 'Cuz he could remember and he couldn't. And right now he couldn't see or feel any of that. It was all like a dream. But he knew that he was supposeda have a mom and she wasn't there. But he was supposeda to have other people too and they weren't there either.

"Well, at least … we're able to tell you about your mom and help you fill that hole. But I don't have that. I'm never going to know. And that's always going to sort of feel like there's a part of me missing," she said.

"And that's why you left?" Ethan said. 'Cuz that still didn't make sense.

"Sort of," Erin said. "Bunny … she got me … very confused. And I was feeling … a little lied to and used and betrayed by a lot of people."

"So you basically lied and betrayed us 'cuz you felt that," Ethan concluded.

That like wind knocked outta ya again sound.

"And it's stupid," he piled on, "'cuz you think you feel that way. Like missing a piece or whatever. But then you go and leave. How do you think that makes me feel? That Mom's gone and Justin and then you just go. When you said you wouldn't."

"I know I hurt you," she said.

"And you messed everything up," Ethan spat. "'Cuz you messed it all up with Jay too. When you were supposed to be marrying him and he was like – HE WAS MY FRIEND. And now you messed all that up too. You completely mess up everything!"

"Yea," she acknowledged. "That's pretty much how I'm feeling right now. How I feel a lot."

"What'd he do?! Did he not love you enough too?" he spat.

That sound. But this time it sounded way worse. Like … he thought he mighta made her cry. And he shrunk into his seat with that. 'Cuz like … Dad getting … teary was one thing but Erin? She didn't cry. Like ever.

"Sorry …," he did in his own whisper.

She moved a bit. He could kinda feel her looking at him. He felt her hand come out and grab at his. Her hand was warm. Like really warm and it kinda felt nice. It sorta felt like when she hugged him. But she was just huggin' his hand then. And he sorta wanted like a real hug. He sorta wanted like … how Erin would always sleep next to him until he fell asleep after treatment. 'Cuz that made things better and easier. But she hadn't been there at all this time. For any of it. And now she was just sitting there all like blurry and stupid.

"Relationships … are just really complicated and hard, Eth. And I'm still learning and so is Jay. And … we'd had some ups and downs … since around Thanksgiving," she said.

"But you were engaged …" he mumbled.

"Yea," she said. "We still are."

"But you left," he said.

"Yea …," she said again and she moved again. He heard her drag the chair a bit closer. "Eth … trying to explain some of that to you, it's adult talk."

"I'm not a little kid," he tried. 'Cuz he wasn't. 'Cuz they were always treatin' him like he was and he wasn't.

But her hand just came up and brushed somewhere along his temple and then fell away. He sorta … he sorta wished it'd stay there. He sorta wished that if hers wouldn't that Dad would come over. That he'd come and do the spider on his head. That it'd feel good and he could kinda forget for a minute and he could go back to sleep. And forget. But he didn't wanna either. 'Cuz he wanted to try to remember all this and to like hear it and to understand it. And to not be a little kid. 'Cuz he wasn't.

"I know …," she said and sighed again. She was real quiet then. Like real. And he sorta thought she wasn't goin' to say anything else. And that maybe Dad was givin' her looks that said she wasn't supposeda and she was listenin'. "You know how Jay's head is hurt too? On the inside?"

"He has PTSD …," Ethan acknowledged.

"Yea …," Erin said. "And … there's been some stuff … at work and at home, just in our lives and our relationship, that have triggered him a bit. Sometimes. And … when Jay's like that, it can be really hard for me to figure out how to be in a relationship with him. He can get very … closed off."

"So can you and Dad," Ethan interjected weakly.

Her hand gripped on his a bit tighter. "You're right," she said. "But it's different. And sometimes I … just don't really know how to deal with it or how to be there for him."

"So now if you're saying you broke up—"

"We aren't broken up, Ethan," she said. "We just … I just made things a bit more complicated and confusing."

"'Cuz breaking up with someone just 'cuz they're head is hurt is like pretty shitty," Ethan said. "It'd make you like an uber bitch."

"You're right," she said.

"And it'd make Jay feel like … it'd super hurt and like just really suck. It'd feel really bad. 'Cuz it's not his fault. And you never left me for being hurt in the head. 'Til now."

Her hand gripped at his even tighter. Something sorta clinked against the armrest.

"Things were … are … more complicated than just his PTSD, Eth," she said. "But, yea, I've hurt him pretty badly. Just like you. And Dad. And other people."

"Then why? Why? It just doesn't … make no sense."

She shook at his hand and he heard and felt that clinking again. "It … it just was a really hard year for me, Eth," she said. "With everything. And … Jay and I were trying to have some … real conversations about our relationship and where it was. And talking about that kind of stuff when both of us were hurting and struggling with other things – it just made it harder and more confusing."

"So you were going to break up anyway …?" he asked. And that sucked too. It all just so sucked. 'Cuz … Jay was just … he was basically a better brother than J. Like … Jay actually liked him. And Jay didn't wish he was dead and … tell him that. And Jay tried to get stuff. Like about all of it. And to do things with him. And like was visitin' in the hospital even though he hated hospitals too. And he was just a friend. But now it was all screwed up and confusin'. Like they weren't supposed to be friends or couldn't be friends if him and Erin weren't like engaged. And that would just suck so bad. 'Cuz then he'd be losing like another friend. And like a sorta brother who'd actually kinda liked him.

"No …," Erin said and he felt her thumb on his hand. "We were trying to figure out the timing of getting married, Eth. And how one of us needed to change jobs for that. And we were talking about starting a family."

Dad sorta made some sorta sound. Maybe one of his smacks. But it didn't sound annoyed like they sometimes were. It was … he didn't know. Like … maybe hurt. Or just surprised. Or like both.

So Ethan tried again to understand that. What Erin said. Like why it made sense. Why Dad would make that noise.

"Like … you mean … having a baby?" he tried.

Her thumb was there again. "Yea …"

"So … that … it doesn't make any sense either," he sputtered. The drugs. He just … he couldn't make his head work. "If you were gonna get married for real and have a baby … it doesn't make any sense …"

"Some times life and decisions people make don't make a lot of sense," Erin said. "But … just … try to understand that … I was feeling really confused and overwhelmed. That … we … our family … this year has been hard. And so my mind was in a certain place with that. You know that. But then my mom … Bunny … she'd been playing with my head a bit. And confusing me more. She does that a lot. And just re-opening old wounds. And then … Jay had been triggering a bit … just before … all this. And we were having trouble talking the way we should. Or needed to. And … that was making me feel a little … frustrated and hurt. And I made a bad choice at work and got myself in some trouble. And then Bunny dumped some more stuff about my potential father on me. And the whole situation made me … question a bit what kind of wife and mother I could even be. And it was while I was questioning my career and my future. And I had to make some choices in all of that. And I got scared and I was angry and I—"

"You ran away," Ethan concluded for her. 'Cuz there were too many words and it was all just blurring together anyway.

"Yea," Erin said. "I guess I did."

"Cowards runaway," Ethan said. "You need to … face up to things. Learn how to get outta the problems you get into."

"That's what I'm trying to do now …," she said quietly.

Her hand reached up to swipe at his temple again but he reached to stop it. He missed. His fingers caught around that think that had been clinking on her wrist. He felt at it. And his mind tried to process. He tried to feel it. And he sorta felt like his heart sank into his stomach. Or maybe more like he'd been kicked in the nuts so hard he'd gotten like a lump in his throat.

"You're wearing it …," he muttered.

Her other hand came up and felt at the bracelet along with him. It was just some stupid Mother's Day craft they'd made him do in class even though they knew he didn't have a mom anymore. They made him to it anyway. But he'd done it good. 'Cuz even though it was dumb he had to do it he knew he could do it good so Erin would kinda like it. And she had. Or she had acted like she had. Or maybe she hadn't been actin'. 'Cuz she had it on.

"It fits with my cover," she said. Like she was kinda jokin'. But Ethan knew she wasn't. 'Cuz Erin didn't really joke that much. Not that way. "So I've had you with me the whole time, Eth."

He scrunched up his eyes and tried to like not think and not feel. And most importantly like not cry or anything like that. Not be a baby. But her hand just held at his more.

"Eth," she said, "I spent some time today reading a bit about the optic neuritis and the kinds of treatment Jay told me the doctors want to do the next while, and I really would like to get you and Dad's permission to talk to your doctors so I can understand more what's going on."

"It don't matter much when you're leaving …"

Her hand held really tight to his. "I talked to my superiors too," she said but it sounded more like she was lookin' over Dad's way now. "I'm going to be here until at least Wednesday."

"Grad …," Ethan whispered.

She shook his hand. "I'd really like to get on the invite list to that, Eth," she said.

"Wednesday's not very long …," he said quietly.

Her hand crushed at his. "I know, Eth. And, that's why I need to talk to the doctors. I need understand more what's going on. So I can tell my boss what's going on too."

"What's it matter …"

"Because …," she made that sound again. "Ethan, I'm not going to lie and make a promise I can't keep. Because I'm … in a position and on an assignment … that some things are going on and it might not be easy for me to get out of. Or it … it just might have implications for a lot of other people if I just stopped showing up at work."

"Because you're doing terrorism Intelligence now and Trump keeps provoking the terrorists?"

Her thumb stroked at his hand. "That's one way of putting it," she agreed.

"Are they going to do another 9/11?" he asked.

Her hand stroked at his temple. "I can't talk about my assignment, Eth," she said. "But I can tell you that I want to understand more what you're next few weeks and few months are going to look like so I can talk to my bosses about all my options. Ones that are best for everyone. Not just me."

He sunk back in his chair. He knew her sayin' that was like her kinda almost talkin' to him like a grown-up. But he didn't like it. He didn't feel good. He just wanted her to say she was comin' home. And she wasn't leavin' again. Like ever. But maybe that was like … being a little kid. But there was this other part of him that just wanted to be a little kid right now. 'Specially with how his head felt. And his body. And all of it. He was just so tired and it just all hurt so much. All over. Inside and out.

"You haven't talked to me forever and that's all you wanna ask?" he managed.

She just kept holding his hand. But it sorta felt like she was closer to him now. "What else do you want me to ask right now, Magoo?"

"I dunno," he said. "But … you usually … you talked me like all the time. Like every dat. Even when Dad sent me away. And now you didn't talk to me and …"

"So … tell me everything, Eth," she said. "Motor."

He just blinked at her. She felt blurrier. She was blurrier. 'Cuz his eyes hurt again. His chest felt tight again. And his throat and he gulped.

And there was so much he wanted to scream at her and yell at her. And to just plain tell her.

Like that Uncle Al and Aunt Meredith were real sad at Confirmation and she shoulda been there 'cuz she prolly mighta made them sorta look happier.

Like that he got accepted into Bridge. That he'd started his training days but now he was gonna miss that training session that weekend. So between missin' that and not gettin' all his hours in he wasn't sure they'd let him do the program or volunteer during the year and then he might not get to go on his dig and then he might not get to work at the museum ever or to go to university like Mom.

Like that Zoe had said that his birthday was like one of the best birthdays she'd been to ever and that he didn't think she was just sayin' that to be nice. That like Dad got them the Palaontologist Package at the museum and they got to see the Jurassic World Exhibit and it was almost sorta better in some spots than even Universal Studios. But just some spots. And that they got to dig a fake fossil out of the block of clay. And that he finally got Do-Rite Donuts and that Jay had called all the way back to Florida and found out the brand of buns they had there that he'd been allowed to eat and then Dad had gotten them ordered so he'd gotten to have a real Chicago hot dog on a real bun for his birthday too. And that Olive had gotten them some stupid lame party favor type stuff. Like flying dinosaurs. And that was the sorta stupid lame thing Erin was supposeda do. Not Olive. And that Eva had made him a paracord survival bracelet and it was really sweet. And she'd gotten him a Star Wars puzzle too even though she still said it was super weird that he did puzzles with Dad and that Dad made them play board games and do puzzles or play outside rather than play videogames and watch TV.

Like that Dad had got him a pitcher training ball and Blitz ball set for his birthday. That Dad was teaching him how to pitch now since Evan wasn't anymore. And that Dad knew a whole lotta about it and was really good. That the Blitz ball was awesome. And that his curve was gettin' really good. But that Dad had hit one. And that it'd gone super far. Like crazy. Like they thought they lost it. But then that Bear found it. But they'd still it 'cuz Bear was way too rough with it bringin' it back and din't want to let go.

But that now that he prolly wasn't gonna get to play ball this summer even. Or go on the Field of Dreams trip. Or like any of the tournaments they got into. And that he wasn't even gonna get to play in the invitationals that weekend for the Warrior Games. Or even go to any of the Warrior Games events even though they'd gotten tickets through RIC and that Jay was gonna go too.

And that Jay's birthday present to him was supposeda be to pay for the whitewater rafting trip in August. 'Cuz they were supposeda be takin' the kayaking course that summer. Together. And they could keep doin' rock climbing at Maggie Daley on the outdoor wall. And that the trip woulda been camping and whitewater rafting and kayaking and climbing on a real rock face and getting to do a rope course and even paintball. And Jay was gonna put in furlough and everything and that even Dad seemed sorta interested in coming even though maybe that was 'cuz he didn't trust Jay to be with him alone 'cuz of all his medication. But now none of it even mattered 'cuz likely none of it was gonna happen.

Just like Dad was supposeda take him camping and fishing at Mazon Creek that summer. And they were gonna go fossil hunting. That he'd even saved up enough of his allowance to get his first geologist kit. Since he was accepted into Bridge. And he saved up enough for to get the fossiling licence too. And Dad had helped fill out the paper work and they'd been lookin' at Mom's books. And he was really excited. And now it didn't even matter either.

That Olive was letting him help plan H's birthday. And that it was gonna be construction site themed. 'Cuz she wanted to do it themed even though Dad thought themed parties were kinda stupid. But he was letting her use the backyard anyway. And she was gonna have a bunch of people from Henry's weird daycare that was basically like some sort of school over. And they were gonna have a barbecue. And that Aunt Trudy would be there. And Uncle Al and Aunt Meredith. And Erin really should be there. 'Cuz it'd be a good distraction for her too. And 'cuz then she could help pick out the present. Or at least convince Dad that it wasn't super fair for him to give Henry one of the Tonka trunks. 'Cuz they weren't just Justin's even if they were J's first.

And then if she was there maybe they'd be allowed to go to Jay's cabin. And if she was there maybe he wouldn't be so scared right now. And he wouldn't be so scared of startin' high school. And he wouldn't be so scared that every time his eyes got too heavy again that they wouldn't open again. Or that when they did he'd just see all these ghosts in front of him. 'Cuz everything was so blurry. And he was so tired.

But all he could manage to get out was, "Erin … the floor's lava."

She didn't get it. Not right away. She held at his hand. "It was, Eth," she said. "And I didn't do very good at getting out of its way." But maybe she did get it, 'cuz she added, "But I think I see a good place to get out of its way right now."

Maybe she did. And he shifted a bit in the recliner. And he heard her get up. He felt her move.

"Erin …," Dad said again, "just-. Careful of the piping."

But she was already settling in next to him. And Ethan didn't even care that things twisted a bit. That he cringed as the port tugged a bit. 'Cuz she was there. And her arm was around him. And her chin was on his head. And he felt Dad fill his space too. Felt him like adjusting some of the tubes and get them out of the way. He felt the blanket unfold and settle down over them. And it was warm. So warm. Finally.

And he settled against Erin. 'Cuz then she felt real. And that was about all he'd wanted all week. All he wanted the past six weeks. All he wanted. And he didn't care who came in. Or who saw. Or if it made him a little kid to need a hug from her. 'Cuz it felt better. And it felt right.

And he closed his eyes. 'Cuz they were so heavy and he was so tired. And he just couldn't think anymore. And maybe he didn't need to. Not right now.

 **AUTHOR NOTE: Feedback, reviews and comments are appreciated.**


	15. Chapter 15

**Title: The Way From Here**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Erin must deal with the consequences of her decision to take a position in FBI counter-intelligence at the expense of her relationship with Jay and her relationship with her family. But an emergency with her younger brother provides her with the opportunity to re-examine her choices and to try to rectify any damages to her relationships. This story takes place in the AU established in Interesting Dynamics.**

 **SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers in this collection from Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas, Scenes, Aftermath and So It Goes (including chapters/scenes in So It Goes that have not yet been written or posted). This series also contains SPOILERS related to the finale of Season 4 of Chicago PD.**

Hank watched as Erin pulled herself out of her chair and fussed at the smoothie she'd placed on Magoo's table, shaking at it before she held it in his general direction.

"Will you drink this?" she asked.

Hank gave her a dismissive grunt and she took that as a cue to shift toward the trash.

"Leave it," he gravelled. She gave him a look and he nodded at the table. "Might want more."

The look turned to mild disapproval. "It's going to be gross by the time he wakes back up," she argued at him.

She had a point. Magoo had ended up having a seizure while the exchange went on. Had been warned to expect it. But out of the handful of seizures that E had had over the years, Hank had learned you never really learn to expect it when it's your child. And even if it's a lot safer for your kid to be having a seizure as an in-patient, there was something about your kid being in the hospital and his whole body losing that control that made it a lot harder to look it. Always made you feel like you were just losing grip on them.

He supposed at least it had put an end to the whole discussion and debate – the weak brow beating from Ethan that Erin had managed to work up enough of her stubborn jackass to get on it too – about the if and why he couldn't be doing the exchange and later transfusions as an outpatient. Maybe if he'd managed to get through the first treatment without allergic reaction and a seizure they might've been able to entertain that kind of talk with the docs. But that was flown out the window now.

Whatever they'd injected into the kid to get the shaking to stop had knocked him right out. He'd been a wake a few more times since then but wasn't making much sense. Back in one of his stupors. Back to his disorientation. Back to thinking his mom was in the room or muttering about ghosts in the room. Upsetting himself and upsetting Voight too. Could deal with a whole lot of the stuff with E but the visual disturbances and how his boy could get on about them being his mother just jarred him in a whole different way. Hard to hear and hard to calm him down. IN the hospital just meant them giving home sedation. Really putting him out for the count then.

"Least he'll be eating something," Voight provided.

Because at this point at least getting him off the damn feeding tube and the urinary catheter ought to be a goal. Especially if they wanted to get the kid out of there for his grad ceremony. Wasn't too sure he agreed much with that want out of his kid. But at this point was willing to dangle any carrot – within reason – to get E focused on pulling through and them getting the hell out of there.

Erin put the cup back on the table. "You know, if you actually go home and make him some of your Bolognese or French toast – and shower, and SLEEP," she mouthed at him with some of her guts really starting to show, "I'm pretty sure he'd eat."

Hank just grunted. Stared at her. Put some warning in his eyes. Glad to see a bit more of his girl in the room than he had last night but wasn't quite ready for her to think she was allowed to be in lecture mode yet. Hadn't quite earned the opportunity to start airing out her opinions just yet. Still had some ways to go. But was glad his daughter was at least starting to punch some cracks through the shell of the person that had arrived the night before.

"You headed out?" he directed at her.

She sort of nodded. Sort of stretched. Retrieved her jacket off the chair she'd been sitting in. Sitting a real long time just watching her brother sleep. He could see on her face whenever he looked at her that she was pretty lost in thought. That she was still doing a lot of hurting. And that she was still doing a lot of processing. He'd left her to it. Thought there'd been enough talking that afternoon anyway. Enough that had gotten said for him to sit there and do his own processing and mental work at trying to re-arrange the pieces and calculate next moves in trying to figure out the fix to anything.

"Take the donuts," he said. "For Jay."

She glanced at him as she pulled the jacket up her arms. "You don't think he'll want to try a bit more?"

He gave his own shrug and looked at Magoo. "Send you out on another donut and coffee run if he does."

"You don't want them?" she put more directly.

"Erin," he nodded at her, keeping her eyes, "Double chocolate brownie old fashioned. You got it for Halstead." She diverted her eyes a bit at that catch. "It got left for Jay. Take it home."

She sighed and eyed him but retrieved the box, briefly lifting the lid. "Vanilla Glazed is still there too," she said and held the box slightly at him.

But he just smacked. Knew full well who's favorite that was. Since she was a little girl. Easy to buy a starving little kid with sugar and deep-fried yeast donuts. Still could see that little girl all of nine, ten, eleven years old licking at her fingers – hardly hesitating a second when he handed her a brown bag with the things in it. Really not hesitating after she figured out some of the routine. And no hesitation after they got her home. After the occasional weekend outing for coffee and a treat with her kid brothers became part of the routine. And his girl still ordered the same damn thing. Didn't even need her to come up to the counter. Knew her order.

Erin was a creature of habit in a whole lot of ways. Struggled a lot when her routines got shaken. Her structure. Maybe how he'd raised her since bringing her home. Like she said – rules, routines, schedules, organization, privileges and responsibilities. But even if that was how him and Camille had settled into trying to raise their family – how they managed their home – there was something to be said about having that kind of structure when you were dealing with kids who'd experienced trauma. They needed it. Older adopted child? She needed it. Needed to know what was expected of her. Needed guidelines on how to operate in the new environment they were giving her. The new lifestyle they were trying to help her to integrate in. She wasn't so different from Magoo that way. Trauma they experienced might be different – but still had a lot of implications for the type of supports they needed from their parents – in their home and in the world around them.

Though, maybe it was just part of who Erin was too. Bit of a personality type. Her survival mechanism. Sort of the kind of personality you needed in a cop – ability to adapt but a whole lot of muscle memory going on. Good and bad points to her being like that. Her need for it also was rooted a lot in her own self-worth and self-doubt. Just her self-esteem. Liked what she knew. Liked having some of her structure. Gave her the stability she needed after so many years of lack of stability. But definitely contributed to her leaving the DEA, he thought. Likely contributing to doing a bit of flailing around right now now that she was in the midst of trying to adjust the choices she made and the path she'd taken. Even more flailing as she tried to figure out how to settle back into a routine that had changed a whole lot since she'd left Chicago. Knew that her world here right now didn't much look like the situation she was comfortable in. Not the structure and routine she was accustomed too. Not the 'new normal' they'd been trying to figure out for the past good long while. Whole lot of change for all of them. Needed to adapt. Needed to reform. If any of them were going to survive thing.

But she just eyed the box some more and closed it. Then it was him she eyed. Looked like she was hesitating some again. Like moving was doing that to her. Again. Staying put was hard. Sometimes when you started to move that whole fight or flight kicked in real good. Instinct. Gut. But could tell her was fighting against that in that moment. That maybe the flight was kicking in again even if she was going to stay put a few days. Maybe she was taming it a bit when her ass was planted in that chair.

But she leaned over Magoo. Touched at his temple like she'd been doing a whole lot of that evening. She thread her fingers through the fine, spotty bristle he still barely had on his head and gave him more of a tender frown than anything resembling a smile. A wince. But he was out. Didn't see it. So she dipped and put a real light, real brief kiss against his forehead. He twitched just a tiny bit.

"See you in the morning, Eth," she whispered at him as she rose. As she gave him another look. Gave him his own frown.

"Doctor makes his rounds around ten," he told her.

She shrugged. "I'll be here before then."

He grunted. Wasn't sure he believed her. Or maybe he just was still sort of hoping that his girl would take some time over the next few days to get some solid sleep. Would make her processing all of this easier on her. Would make it easier for her to figure out what she needed to do. What she wanted to do. To just manage the day-to-day. To get her head on straight.

"Will make sure he knows you've got some questions," he said. "Give us a few extra minutes."

"OK …," she said all quiet again.

Just looked at him. Looked like she had more to say. Had a whole lot on her mind. Like she might want to talk. Thought about reminding her that she could talk to him about anything. Part of their routine. Their structure. The whole deal. But thought she knew that. Hoped she did. Had done his best to rebuild that this past year. Apparently, though, hadn't been rebuilt enough.

Had known that anyway. But had been real clear in her talking to Magoo. Him getting to listen to her perspective. A lot going on. Some he hadn't known. Some he'd suspected. Some he'd outright just known. But supposed he should've done more to make himself available to talk to her about it. To be there for her. Shouldn't have just assumed she was an adult woman. Shouldn't have avoided having it out with her. Getting accused of being over-protective. Getting snark about him being "Dad" was all an act. Shouldn't have treaded so carefully given the whole family situation – whole body situation – when he'd seen signs that she was struggling. Shouldn't have just had those couple brief man-to-man with Halstead where he'd told the guy to man-up and deal with it. Should've seen – he had seen – so he should've accepted that that kid was struggling some too. Needed some extra help and guidance in navigating the next steps. Maybe needed some of his own hand holding to make the next leap. To get over the bump. Knew the kid didn't have a lot of that on his side of the family life. And, however fathers and sons were, knew from raising boys of his own that sometimes they just needed that brow beating too. Even if it meant they were going to hate you some before they were able to understand you cared about them a whole lot.

Had failed Erin some the past twelve months. In a whole lot of ways. Seemed now. Should've gotten a handle on that sooner. That was on him.

"I really can stay if you want to go and … change, shower, rest for a bit," she offered again. Because she was a good girl. Good woman. A good daughter. Family even when she didn't much want to be. Thought she was more family – that they all were – more than she'd wanted to accept or admit to herself. Hoped, though, maybe she was starting to be reminded. To settle into that idea again. Acceptance.

Hank just grunted and nodded at E. Knew she'd seen that it wasn't too pretty when he woke up disoriented. Knew she'd be able to handle it. But also knew that in those moments Magoo was asking after him pretty quick. Was seeing that real little boy side of his little boy. That real reminder that … as much as he saw E as Camille's, he'd raised the kid for more than half his life now. He was a Daddy's Boy. His little boy. And he was his sister's boy too. Erin's in a whole lot of ways that maybe she'd needed reminders of. Maybe Hank had needed some real reminders – real wake up call – to all that too.

His girl just nodded again. Gave him another one of those frowns. "So I'll see you in the morning …" she said.

But he got up and followed her out. She gave him a look as he leaned his shoulder against the wall just outside the door. Stared at him. Slouched with those sad eyes. He'd seen them a lot over the years. But they'd had some good years where he'd seen them less and less. Had seen a whole lot more of them over the past about twelve months. Should've recognized him more. Seen all the sadness and all the things unsaid in them. All the things she wanted to say but that she hadn't known how. Because as much as he tried to have open communication with his kids, knew he wasn't the easiest person for them to communicate with. Didn't make it easy for them at all. Even if he thought he did. Even if he wanted to.

Just looked at each other for a bit. That flicker in her eyes. She was trying so hard to be stoic. Trying to be what she thought he expected for her. What she likely thought he wanted from her. But it wasn't. Never really had been. And he instead did some of his own steadying of himself against that wall as he tried to figure out what to say. Tried to navigate again that whole fucking quagmire of being a parent to adult children. But still being a parent. Still seeing that little kid no matter how much they grew up. Still seeing his little girl – the one he was supposed to be protecting and looking after and helping along – even if she was in her 30s. Even if she had a man in her life. Even if she was still that stubborn, independent-minded, sassy little thing. Girls need their fathers. Just like boys do. Need their mothers. Kids just … humans just … you can't do it on your own. I just doesn't work. He'd tried.

"Thank you," he finally managed.

Those eyes flickered again. Sadness. Confusion. "For what?" Erin asked.

He grunted. Nodded his head back toward the room. Back toward Magoo. That bed. Everything that was in there. But also knew – and knew she knew – that wasn't what he was thanking her for. He squeezed at the bridge of his nose. Tried to steady himself a bit more and looked at her more directly.

"Something I should've been saying to you a lot more over the years than I have," he managed. Rasped out. Rougher than he wanted it to be.

She just frowned at him. Those sad eyes flickered some more. And he stared at the wall. Had to do his own forced stance to keep the whole flight thing from kicking in and sending him back into the room. From just leaving it at that. From hoping it was enough. But that day – past week, past six weeks, past year, past six years … it'd taught him, should've taught him a whole lot longer ago – that it wasn't enough. So he put his eyes back on her.

"Should've said it a lot more to Camille too," he pressed out. "But it's different," he nodded at her. "Know that. You're the kid. My kid. My daughter. And, I know you've carried a whole lot of the weight – more than a kid should have to – in raising the boys. Raising him," he said and nodded off into the room again.

Erin just gave him another little shrug. But those eyes of hers flickered even more. Those arms of her came up. She tried to protect herself and act way more stoic than he was managing himself.

"He's my baby brother," she said. "I love him."

He gave her his own thin, sad smile. Own real grimace. "I know," he acknowledged. He kept her eyes. "But, just want you to know, to hear me when I say, thank you. That I appreciate all you've done. For me. The family. Your brothers. If I needed a reminder of how much it was … is … past six weeks did that."

Her own shoulder slumped against the wall. She stared at him. Those eyes of hers were just glass. And Hank was having to put up a fight of his own to keep his from glassing more than he knew they were. Knew she could see it. But maybe she needed to. More than deserved to.

"Why'd you set up those options for me, Hank," she asked meekly.

He shrugged and steadied himself against the wall. "Know how you are, Erin," he said. "You would've fallen on a stake for her. Were in enough trouble as it was."

She let out a slow sigh and gazed at the ground. Gazed at his boots. "I don't know if I'm going to be able to get out of this," she muttered. "It's … it's going to be a lot messier than walking away from the DEA."

She gazed at him. He saw her searching for some kind of support. Some kind of answer.

"I know," was all he was able to provide.

Her eyes flickered again. "Things are happening …," she said and got all vacant looking. That look looked a whole lot worse on her than the sad eyes. "This country …". Her head shook as she stared again at the floor. Defeated disgust. Heartbroken in a whole different way.

He just stayed on her. Kept looking until she managed to bring her eyes back up. "I'm proud of you, Kiddo," he told her. "Always have been. That's not going to change if you decide to come back to Chicago. And not going to change if you decide to stick out this assignment."

Her eyes flickered again. "But I lose my relationship with him," she said and slumped more against that wall outside E's door. "And Jay."

He looked at her. Hard. "Lose isn't the right word," he told her. "Things are just going to be different."

Her head shook again and her arms held tight, staring in at E. "Did the trip to Florida … did it … cause … th—"

"No," Hank put to her firmly and waited as her eyes drifted back to him. "Multiple sclerosis caused this. Just another bad exacerbation."

"He was starting to flare before I left …," she muttered. "I should've …"

"Erin, we knew there was going to be some point it'd progress. There's no should've here."

She just let out a slow breath and put her eyes back into the room. Just stared at him. Looking a whole lot like she didn't want to move. Didn't want to go. Wanted to plant her ass in that chair again.

"Know I didn't have a sibling," Voight told her as he watched her watching his boy. "And don't know that sibling is the right word for what you two have." That got a small look from her. "And not saying this to try to sway you one way or another. But, Erin, what you and Magoo have is special."

"I know," she said real quiet.

He allowed her a thin smile – thin frown. "Erin …," he sighed and looked at the ground. "He's not on his death bed," he managed. "But things – they're going to be different after this exacerbation. Know that."

"Yea …," she whispered.

Hank stared at his boots too. Long. And looked up to find her staring at him. "Don't know how long we'll have him," he said. "But, do know that right now I'm really regretting that I made a choice that meant we lost two years of having him around, watching him grow up. Don't want you to end up feeling that too."

"I already feel that way," she put flatly. Real dead-like. And those eyes again. "In six weeks."

He grunted and looked right back at her. Whole fucking lot had happened in six weeks. But that was life. It moves fast. And it only starts moving faster the older you get. Can start disappearing real quickly after you start moving through your thirities. And having kids in your life, only serves as a real visual and visceral reminder of just how fast time is. How short and quick and dirty life really is. But he didn't need to rub any of that into her face. Knew she knew.

"Glad you're going to be here to see him in his cap and gown," he offered instead. "See him always across that stage."

He got a real thin smile. "Me too," she said weakly. Not a lot of conviction. But it was hard to feel much happiness or excitement. Knew that. Hoped her could manage some pride, though. In her brother. In herself. In the role she'd played in getting him this far. The role he hoped she'd play in getting him over these next humps of his. Because Magoo needed her. Real bad. Missed her real bad. Really hoped she'd seen and felt that that evening.

And she had. He thought because she let out another ragged sigh. Another head shake. "What am I going to do if I come back?" she asked. "A job …?" And her eyes fell again.

"Can't answer that," Hank said. "Don't even have a handle on how I'm going to land yet."

Her eyes darted to his. There was concern. But Hank just managed a shrug. A smack. The reality.

"Not just a shitty year for our family, Kiddo," he nodded at her. "Bad one for the city. Bad one for CPD. For police."

"And I make … a shitty choice and I get to be made an example," Erin said.

"Pretty much," he agreed.

She glared at him. "I got him," she said. "I got his confession. I found that boy. I did my job."

"Erin," he stressed at her. "I know."

"Lots of cops have done the same. Worse," she argued even more harshly. "You have."

"Erin," he nodded at her and looked her square in the eyes. "I know."

She sighed hard and held at herself. Just clutched.

"It's all timing, Erin," Hank said. "City's change. Country's changing. Society. The job. Period of reform. All going to have to adapt. Take the time to get a handle on the new situation, new environment, and keep moving forward."

"I don't know what that means …," she muttered too quietly.

"Means I can't tell you there's a job waiting for you in Chicago," he said. "Means I do know you're going to have an uphill battle on a lot of fronts, if you decide this is where you want to be. But also know, you've still got family here, Erin. Not going to be easy. Might not work out the way you want or end up looking like what you'd hope for – but things will work themselves out, if you put in the work."

Her eyes watered again. Hard. And she bite at her lip and held at herself more. And he gave up on trying to look at his daughter like that. Trying to keep up some tough-love that maybe kids needed but that they didn't always need. And Hank stepped forward and wrapped her in his arms.

She resisted for a long beat. Stayed all rigid but then let her head settle on his shoulder and she shook. Too hard. Because she was still trying not to cry. So he just rubbed at her back and stroked at her hair.

"I don't know how to fix any of this," she crackled against him. Still trying to be that stoic, stubborn teenaged girl who didn't let him see her tears. Who tried her damnedest to hide them even when she more than deserved to have a real good cry.

"You're a smart girl, Kiddo," he rubbed her back. "You're going to figure it out. You're moving in the right direction. Keep moving."

"Moving was the problem." Her voice cracked that time.

He held at her shoulder. Could feel her eyes pressed against his. Could feel the wet there that he wasn't supposed to see. So he just let her stay like that. Held her while she tried to calm herself.

"Erin," he rasped carefully as the shaking settled a bit. "You've got to stop being so hard on yourself. Got to accept there's nothing wrong with wanting to make a life in Chicago. Nothing wrong with being your age and being ready to settle down. To want a family. To start a family. You managing to do all that, will make me real proud too. I want that for you. Deserve it."

A sob rattled a bit harder through her.

"I fucked it up," she sputtered. "I sabotaged it. I …"

He rubbed her back. "Erin, we all get scared about this. You're normal. Got to stop being so hard on yourself." She just shook a bit more. "Going to have scary moments and bad decisions and big fights in the real relationships," he tried to assure. "Jay's still around. Hasn't tucked tail. So go fight—"

"I don't want to fight with him," she said.

He held at her. "Kiddo, the real loves of your life, you're going to fight with. And you got to fight for. It's part of putting in the hard work of the relationship."

And she shook some more. Shook a long time. But she finally let down how her arms were clutching at him – his shoulders. She finally eased away. And he made himself loosen his grip on his girl too. Looked at her red, puffy face and reached with his rough them to swipe away a few of the streaks of the tears he hadn't been allowed to watch fall.

"You're going to be OK," he told her.

"I know …," she said. But it sounded broken and she gazed into E's room again, arms around herself. "Will he?"

But that was a whole different ball game. And one that Hank had to trust would work on too. Somehow. Even if it wasn't the outcome he wanted either. Somehow, though, he was going to have to make it OK. For all of them.

 **AUTHOR NOTE: Reviews, feedback and comments are appreciated.**


	16. Chapter 16

**Title: The Way From Here**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Erin must deal with the consequences of her decision to take a position in FBI counter-intelligence at the expense of her relationship with Jay and her relationship with her family. But an emergency with her younger brother provides her with the opportunity to re-examine her choices and to try to rectify any damages to her relationships. This story takes place in the AU established in Interesting Dynamics.**

 **SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers in this collection from Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas, Scenes, Aftermath and So It Goes (including chapters/scenes in So It Goes that have not yet been written or posted). This series also contains SPOILERS related to the finale of Season 4 of Chicago PD.**

"Forget your key," Jay put to her as he opened the door.

Erin gave him a little shrug. "I was giving you the chance to tell me to fuck off," she said.

And even though she knew that really wasn't Jay. Not with her. That when he wanted – or needed – space, it wasn't how he presented it. It was never phrased quite around 'fuck off'. And sometimes that was better. And sometimes that was harder. But that night, she actually still thought he might come out with it. Or something along those lines. That he might close the door in her face. Tell her to leave. Say he wasn't ready to see her or talk to her or be near her.

Because he said that. That morning. In those early hours. In his anger and frustration and rage and sadness at her. In her own with herself. And how she'd pushed his buttons and he'd pushed hers. And they'd boiled over. The mess that had been simmering had just spewed. Right out of both of them. So maybe he did need to tell her to fuck off. Maybe he wanted to.

Because he was still standing blocking the doorway – like he might not let her in. Because his eyes still looked so tired and hurt. And because she recognized he had every right to tell her just that – to fuck off. That he'd told her as much that day already. In a much more drawn-out and painful way. Because he'd told her repeatedly he didn't want to fight. And because she'd sort of come to accept that even if they didn't verbally fight that night – they were fighting. And that hurt her too.

He just looked at her. Those eyes. There was something about them that had won her over. Over and over again. Maybe because she could see some of herself in there. The brokenness. The dimmed light. The steady, steely look that they both tried to adopt to hide those things.

But she tried. She held out that box of nearly day-old two leftover donuts. She tried – because he'd tried with her. In the past. He'd tried over and over. And over again. And she pushed him away. A lot. She didn't listen. A lot. So right now she couldn't really blame him for not trying. For not wanting to try. To not want to hurt more. When he was already hurting. She understood. And she didn't blame him.

But she still held out that box in a quiet, momentary peace offering. And she offered him a thin smile too. Though, she knew she was just slightly biting at her lower lip. Still just slightly steadying herself for him to not to open the door enough for her to come in. Because there was so many things – so many ways – he'd never really quite welcomed her into his life. That he'd always had some kind of closed door policy. That he was closed off. But she supposed she could understand that too. That her being that way too was part of the reason they were standing like this – in their own doorway – right now.

But he did allow her something that vaguely resembled a smile. Sort of. At least mild amusement. And he took the box. And he lifted the lid, arcing his eyebrow at her at the near empty box of donuts.

"Your favorite …" she tried.

"Stale donuts?" he put to her.

She shrugged. "Still fresher than anything sitting in the break room."

He made a quiet sound of vague amusement again. He looked down at his feet for a split second to try to hide it. But that was it. A split second. Because he'd left the backdoor – that was really their front door that they never used – and started wandering back down toward the kitchen, leaving her to let herself in. To close the door.

"Bribe to get Eth to eat?" she heard him ask from down in the kitchen, as she did step inside.

As she did close that door and looked at it. Because she wasn't sure she'd ever even used that door since the day they'd come to the open house. When Jay had twisted her arm into looking at this place when it wasn't within the realm of what she wanted. But was in the realm of what she needed – then. Maybe even more than she knew at the time. A place that had come to feel like a home – their home – in a matter of months. But she'd walked out that door. Not that one. But a door nonetheless.

They always used their backdoor as their front door. They always came in through the lowest level of their home. Or the garage. And she wondered what that said about them. Sneaking through back alleys and locked up garages and tiptoeing upstairs rather than just walking right in.

But she still just closed it.

She closed it and locked it. And she slid off her coat to hang on the oddly occupied hooks at the door they never used but apparently liked to leave their coats at. Maybe because it was familiar. Their hooks that had come with them from their other places. And now hung together side-by-side.

"Yea," she acknowledged and bent to unbuckle her boots. To leave them too. Because it'd be harder for him to kick her out – for her to run away – if she had to take the time to put her boots back on. To do up the laces. To not trip and fall on her face. Again.

Though, she might trip and fall on her face anyway because Bear came and nudged at her. He rammed his snout into her lap and demanded that her hands pet at his head rather than work at her boots. And he sniffed at them.

"You smell your boy?" she whispered at him and let him sniff and lick at her palms. She scrubbed roughly between his ears — the way Hank did that he likely was missing. And she wondered if there was some way they could at least get Eth into a wheelchair and bring him to the front of Med so Bear could come over and see him. So he could see his best friend. So that someone could cheer him up.

"It work?" Jay asked, drawing her attention away from Bear and the dog's attention toward him. Bear went clattering back down the hallway too.

She could hear Jay in the kitchen. The click of Bear's claws on the floor as he joined him. She could hear him getting their version of plates. The fancy kind. The ones called paper towels. Because that's the kind of high-class people they were. But why dirty plates for a donut at 10 p.m. at night.

"Sort of," she said. "He took a few bites. I think it was more than he could stomach right now. I went and got him a smoothie. He did better with that."

She rounded the corner to see him holding a jug of milk at her in offer. She raised her own eyebrow.

"What happened to almond?" she asked.

She tried to make it coy. To keep it light. Tried to keep this comfortable. Though, it felt more uncomfortable than she'd really ever felt with him. Even after some of her other face plants. But then it was just looks of disappointment he gave her. The ones he had that night had hurt – that she knew she was a eye factor in.

He shrugged and reached into the cupboard to grab two glasses – more like tumblers. Because that seemed to be the majority of what they owned and Jay didn't see the point in spending money on anything else since apparently a glass was a glass was a glass. It didn't matter what you drank out of it. Or whatever title or label society gave it.

He started to pour.

"It's Will's," he said as he did. "I don't have much in the fridge right now." He let that sit there. And sit. Before he provided, "Work." Like that was an understandable explanation.

But Erin could read between the lines. The tone. Work was just a good excuse to not be there. At the house. Alone with himself. And his thoughts. And his mind that liked to play tricks on him now. Burying himself in work. It was one of his old habits. Habits they'd both been working on … letting go of. But that was before. And this was now.

Living at work. Living for the job. She knew it had long been one of his key sources of his stability. His sanity. His ability to function in society in a meaningful way. And even though that was positive, she also knew it wasn't. Not for him. And that she'd contributed to that … regression.

"And here I was really looking forward to one of your green, protein … things," she tried to tease. She tried. Again.

And it was only so much of a tease anyway. Because after the kind of crap she'd been eating for six weeks, her body had been craving some of her new-found … Jay's … diet. She could feel it asking for it. But it wasn't exactly like she was in a situation where she could be munching on kale and ordering soy lattes and putting almond milk in her coffee and cereal and arriving at what was basically her job with a green smoothie or a brightly colored electrolyte drink.

And if this trip home was under different circumstances, she knew she'd be wanting some of Jay's disgustingly healthy breakfast options in the fridge and cupboards. She'd want the odd mix of Canaryville white boy poverty dinners combined with protein-heavy and carb-light plates that rotated across their kitchen counter. She'd want a Saturday morning off-roster breakfast, when they'd have Eth overnight to give Hank a break, and that Jay wouldn't give her shit about sleeping in. That she could lay in bed and listen to Jay showing her baby brother some of his own tricks in the kitchen. And she could eventually come down to a strawberry smoothie, banana pancakes and brightly colored fresh-cut fruit and yogurt.

She wanted a Sunday without Eth. Especially now. In summer. When rather than making Jay tolerate her distracting herself with runs in areas that he didn't like and extended visits to vinyl shops and used book stores and antique boutiques and flea markets and stoop sales – they could also wander the farmer's markets. That they could get random cheese and meats and fruit and run or wander some more before ending up in a park or along the lake and just sit for a while. Just eat. Just … enjoy the city. Each other.

She wanted weeknights hanging around work late enough to eventually make their way over to one of Eth's baseball practices or games. To have an excuse to stop and pick up something on the way. Or an even better excuse – to get there late – and to have a reason to visit the concession stand. To city in the bleachers in a city park. To feel the sun go down and the lights come up. To feel the summer warmth setting in to be cooled by the spring nights. To see the neighborhood around them light up. To still have that real Chicago feeling as they park-hopped around the city from diamond to diamond for her little brother's baseball season. Even if they paid more attention to each other than they ever did much to the game. Until tournament and championship season.

She wanted to hit some of her Chicago favorites in the city. The dives they'd both grown up going to and were sharing with each other now. The vinyl booths and the greasy food. The occasional trendier spot that maybe Nadia had introduced her to and maybe made her feel younger than she did anymore. Or maybe than she ever had. The fucking brunch spots they subjected themselves to meeting Will and Nina at. And the few they'd actually gone back to – to enjoy without the two of them. The Italian beefs and the Vienna Beefs dragged through the garden and the deep-dish pizza and the smoked fish and the Koma burgers and the Midwest barbecue and the tacos and burritos that couldn't be beat.

She wanted to get the standing-invite to Hank's for Sunday dinner – if they hadn't caught a case over the weekend. She wanted his smoked ribs and the steak he seared better than any restaurant she'd ever been to and a plate of his Bolognese and a big serving of Camille's pot roast and his mother's recipe of cabbage rolls and how he cooked bacon so extra crispy that it crumbled when you took a bite. She wanted to stand in the kitchen and put up the passive argument with him about taking some of the leftovers – when right now she'd gladly eat through a freezer full of his and Ethan's leftovers from the week.

But it wasn't that kind of trip. That kind of homecoming. And she knew she had no right to put any request – to put forward much of any want – with anyone. So she just stood there. Again.

Jay glanced at her as he twisted the cap back into the jug. He examined her a bit. Accessed her wisecrack. That likely wasn't so wise. Because there was a scrutiny to his look.

He wasn't just looking at her. He was looking at her body. Her complexion. Her face. The way the clothes she'd pulled from the closet to put on that morning – the ones that had fit her six weeks ago – hung a little too loosely on her frame. She could tell. That he was assessing it. Seeing it. And a worry – one that he again tried to control and hide – rippled briefly across his brow and set into his jaw.

"You want to do more than a late-night sugar coma," he offered. "We could order out. Did you eat?"

Erin only shrugged at him, though. Again. She tucked her arms around herself and tucked her shoulder against the support wall in the entrance of the kitchen.

"I'm okay," she said. It was a lie on so many levels. One that he saw and read too. And one where the disapproval at her statement again played across his brow and set into his jaw. But he provided no comment. He just reached back to the fridge and opened the door to return the milk.

And she was left staring at the door near in her face. And a picture that had gotten temporarily tacked to the door. The one Jay had spent a stupid amount of money on. The one of them with Eth at Jurassic Park – meeting one of his favorite raptors. The one where they looked like a happy and normal couple … family.

But just as quickly as it had been thrown in her face the door closed and it swatted away. Just like a whole lot of the past twenty-four hours had been feeling like. And she stood there staring at its disappearance until she felt Jay staring at her.

Erin met his eyes and gestured at the picture. His eyes followed. "I'm glad we did that," she managed. "That we took him. That he got to see it. Do it."

Jay nodded and stared at the photo too. For a long time. Like he'd become so used to it being there – or just had been avoiding the kitchen and fridge and the whole townhouse so much – that he'd forgotten it was there.

Or maybe it was more that he was acutely aware that photo was there. Every day. Because his face. The length of time he looked at it. It looked like he had a lot to say. That a lot was working its way through his mind. That something heavy was hanging off the corners of his frown.

But all he managed to put out there was: "Yea. It was a fun trip."

And that wasn't what he'd been thinking. She could tell. And it was an outright lie. There were fun parts to it. But it was a lot of work. Ethan was a lot of work. Managing his care was a lot of work. Doing a vacation with a sick kid wasn't much of a vacation. It definitely wasn't a holiday. There'd been ups and downs and triggers and thoughts and memories and rough moments for all of them. But there'd also been good memories. New memories. And bonding – experiences – that they'd always have. Now. For better or worse.

It was hard to believe – now – that that had all been, had all happened, just a few months ago. It felt so far away. It almost felt like it hadn't even happened. Like it was a dream maybe. But the photographic evidence was there. It had happened. It'd been real. What they'd had had been real. Then.

Jay picked up his donut. He picked up his glass. And he breezed by her – leaving her again, and Bear right along with him – to retrieve her own from where he'd left them on the counter.

"Was he coherent while you were there?" he asked, as he moved into the front room.

"Some of it," she allowed, and picked up her leftovers.

"Did they end up starting the exchange today?" he asked, as he got seated.

"Yea …," Erin allowed and followed. She gazed at the room. She measured if she was welcome to join him on the couch or if she should give him space. If she should sit in one of the facing chairs instead.

"How'd it go?" he asked, as he raised the donut and the paper towel to take his first bite.

"Allergic reaction to the artificial plasma and the body's shock from the exchange triggered a seizure when they had about a quarter left to go," she put flatly. And sat next to him on the couch.

Bear claimed one of the chairs. He was too big for it and circled several times before curling and plopping over-sized into a ball that seeped over the edges of the arms. It didn't look comfortable. And it wasn't the kind of seating arrangement that he'd be allowed to do at home. Hank would've barked at him as soon as he was up there. And in the townhouse, Jay likely would've too. But his eyes just stayed set on her.

He gazed at her. There was a heaviness to it again. A heaviness that she knew was going to be resting there – between the two of them – for a while. It wasn't something that was going to lift naturally. Easily. It was going to take a whole lot more time – and effort – than just getting to Wednesday would provide. And it was hard to be under it. To see all the emotions she'd learn to read in him playing behind his eyes. To not see that twinkle in them. The mischievousness.

The little boy in the man that she'd grown to love. That completed him. That made up for some of the flaws she saw in him that intimidated her in some ways. Because he was far from perfect. And he was broken. But he was kind to her. Supportive of her. And for as many broken pieces he had inside him – that she had inside herself – it'd always sort of felt like he completed her. Filled in those cracks and missing spots in her life and her experience and her personality and made her a better person and cop. And maybe that scared her a little too. Or maybe it scared her a lot.

Erin sighed and moved her eyes away from the shared line of sight. She stared at the donut. Because it was a lot easier to look at. Sort of.

"Man, did I miss this couch …," she tried again. Flippantly. She tried to somehow make it comfortable. And for a comfortable couch – it wasn't. At all.

"Function and form," Jay provided loosely. It wasn't a quip. It was just a statement. One he punctuated by taking another bite of his donut.

But she still looked at him. She gave him a thin smile.

"Kind of like you," she told him.

She watched him as his eyes drifted back to hers as he chewed the bite of the gluten-free, dairy-free, vegan donut that she thought had to be kind of dry and stale even when they were fresh out of the oven. But she thought more of the supposed double-chocolate brownie texture that Jay's old-fashion – when in so many ways he was so old-fashioned – allegedly was supposed to have. And she thought of one of the handful of little anecdotes he'd ever given her … or really her by way of Ethan … about his mom. That she said that double-fudge brownies were the cure all for any bad day. And Erin so wished that it were true – or that easy. That handing Jay a poor facsimile of one of his mom's baked treats could be any sort of band-aid in at least getting them to start to heal.

It likely couldn't do that. But at least he was looking at her. At least he'd opened the door. At least he hadn't moved when she'd sat next to him. So maybe he was trying to. As well as he could.

"I'm sorry about last night," she said. "This morning."

"Yea …," he acknowledged. But he leaned forward. He put the donut on the coffee table. And he gave her some more of his attention. As awkward and uncomfortable and as unwanted as it felt. As much as she wasn't sure if he'd eaten enough of the crappy donuts for it to have any kind of magic healing power that his mom claimed.

Still, Erin sighed too and put her untouched pastry next to his half-eaten one. And she shifted to look at him. To make herself keep his eyes. And it was hard.

"I never wanted the things you told me this morning to come out the way they did, Jay," she said.

And she could tell he was forcing himself to keep her eyes then. But he was also trying to force himself to turn-off all the feeling behind them. And maybe to someone who didn't know him, it would've worked. But she knew him.

"Okay …," was all he managed.

And she wanted to say more. To talk about it. To tell him — to assure him — that knowing any of that about him didn't change the way she saw him. That he was right that in a lot of ways she'd already known. And he was right that she was wrong to push for confirmation the way she had. Even though it hurt so much that he couldn't — or wouldn't — talk to her. That in some ways she felt like her baby brother knew more about what he was dealing with — with his military life and experience, with his triggers — than she did. That Mouse had. That Hank did from whatever was written in Jay's files. That he could talk to all these other people — but he couldn't talk to her. That he ran from her. And shut her out. And just didn't want her to know about any of it. Even though she knew — she saw — that she triggered him. That work triggered him. And that it had an affect on their life. On their job. On their relationship.

But even within that she wanted him to know that as broken as he maybe felt with some of it — she didn't care. Because the Jay she knew was a person who'd gone through those traumas. As a child. As a Ranger. And that had shaped the man she'd fallen in love. It'd shaped the man she'd come to depend on. And as much as maybe he felt it'd broken him — that it'd fucked him up — she felt that it'd made him perfect for her. She just wished he'd let her in on some of what was going on with him — in his head — just sometimes. Because she wanted to try to help — to listen — the way he did with her.

But Erin knew he didn't want to get into that that night. Or maybe any night. Ever. Though, she knew if that was the truth — that they never would work. There'd be too much resent. She'd be too confused. And she couldn't — she wouldn't — be that girl waiting for him to some day change. To some day open up. She wouldn't always be the one laying her cards on the table at his urging.

But she was willing to be that that night. Because she was in the wrong that night. That day. That night before. That night six weeks ago. So she'd try. She'd try to explain herself. She'd try to fight for their relationship. She'd try to get them toward some kind of common ground. Something they could reconcile on at least for the moment.

So she tried to steady herself too. To keep her eyes as neutral as his looked. But she knew she wasn't succeeding.

"It's just … hard, Jay," she said. "Sometimes I just really don't know what you want or need from me."

He shrugged. "Usually you being around is enough," he put flatly.

Erin ran her hand through her hair and gazed at him. "There's been some times lately it hasn't really felt that way."

"Well, lately you haven't really been around," he put back to her with a clear edge.

And she knew that he knew by lately she meant more than the past six weeks. But maybe he did too. Maybe, if they were being honest, they could trace this back to November and Bunny. Or to Justin and the body. Maybe if they really wanted to they could trace a whole host of times she hadn't really been available or dependable going back to before them being officially in a relationship. But that was too much to deal with that night. That trip.

"I know you don't really understand," Erin said, "and I don't really know how to explain it. But … the question mark with who my father is …"

She sighed and gazed at the donuts. She tried to find some of the magic healing elixir. She shifted her eyes to him. But his had gotten harder again.

"Yea, I have trouble understanding why you carry that cross around so much when you've got a family," he said bluntly. "When they clearly love you and care about you and want you around. I didn't have that. I fucking wish I had that, Erin."

"Half of me is missing, Jay," she tried. His eyes shifted to the table. To take his turn staring there. "And the other half is … Bunny."

"It's Hank and Camille," he said quietly and shifted his eyes back to her. "And Justin and Eth and Henry."

She gazed at him. "And what if we have kids? Like we've … we'd … been talking about. I don't even know what I'm passing along to them. Bunny and … what?"

"Not Bunny," he pressed at her more firmly. "You."

Erin slumped back into the couch. "And what's that? An addict? A street kid who barely graduated high school? The daughter of a whore?"

"That's not how I see you," he said. "And that's not how the people who raised you – raised you."

She gazed at him. "And is that who I am? 'Voight's girl'?"

He made a noise and lulled his head against the back of the couch for a moment. "Erin, we're all our parents. Whether we like it or not."

"So I'm fucked by nature and by nurture," she muttered and his head rotated to look at her. "I became him," she said. "In the interrogation room. With the gun."

"You did your job," he said flatly.

She shook her head and looked away. "I became him. I became him while Bunny is telling me that I was his."

"Erin, she was fucking with you," he said firmly. "She has been for months. She has been your whole life."

"And it worked," she said, biting the bottom of her lip to try to stop tears. "Because she tapped into a little girl fantasy. And she made it … make sense. Because how – why – has it ever made sense that Hank brought me home? That Camille let me stay?"

Jay pressed the heel of his hand up across his forehead. "People foster and adopt kids for all sorts of reasons."

"She picked her moment," Erin mumbled. Because there was no arguing that point. Because it was the reality. And she knew she'd never get a full or accurate version of the story of the how and the why. And even if Hank ever sat her down and told her something more than he'd ever told her – now she was only ever going to get his side. Not Camille's. And Hank only ever told you as much as he thought you needed to know about any given thing. "She knew … she knew the family I had … was struggling."

She gazed at the ceiling too. Willing her upward gaze to hold in the tears. "And the stupid thing is that … as much as … I wanted that lie to be real and as angry as I felt at the potential of being lied to over and over again for years. As much as I don't fucking want to be him. Not after Justin. I don't know who or what I am when I'm not 'Voight's girl', Jay." She brought her watery eyes back to his. "And … I don't even fucking know if I can be a person, do a job, be normal without being 'Voight's girl.'"

"You're more than that too," Jay said.

She went back to gazing at the ceiling. "You know, things were getting scary when I was a kid. Before Hank brought me home. Everything just felt … out of control. That I'd end up dead in the street. For nothing. And, right now … I feel the same way. Not being in the city. Not being near my family. Near you," she said and brought her eyes back to him. "I just feel … like everything – me – it's slipping away. And it feels like it's for nothing too. It's for … it's for a job, an assignment, that … we shouldn't have to be doing in 2017 in the United States."

And she found his look again. He was actually looking at her. Actually letting her talk. Like he did. He wasn't being dismissive. He wasn't saying he didn't want to fight on repeat.

"Right now … what you said about Afghanistan … I know it's not the same. But I don't know how you did it. Because … I don't know how to do the job right now. To be doing work that … it disgusts you. When it's … so against who and what you are. But when you know the job is important. But by doing it. How you have to do the job. You don't know any more if you're a good guy or a bad guy. You don't know … if you can believe in your country. Or just fucking humanity anymore. At all. What you're working for. Who you're doing this for."

His eyes flickered a bit. She felt a tear trickle down her cheek. She reached her palm up and pressed it away. But another escaped and he reached and swiped it for her with his thumb. But she felt more fall. She felt her throat tighten.

"Our job," she said, "at least … ninety percent of the time … maybe more … we know who the bad guys are. I know … I see the outcome. I know the job's important. For the city. For people in it. The work makes sense. But … what I'm doing right now. So much of it doesn't make sense. On any level. Personally, professionally, emotionally. I'm just having … so much trouble wrapping my head around it. How I need to … compartmentalize it to keep my cover. And now … here … Here, on the job, I know I'm the good guy. But I became the bad guy, Jay. At work. In our relationship. With Eth. In my family. And … it's like … now that person. I'm having to be that person every day. And that's not me either."

"It's not …" he agreed.

She sighed hard. She tried to expel all the air from her lungs. "I was … really scared, Jay. And just confused. And angry. And … spinning. And I … felt like we weren't connecting. At work. Here. And think it scared me more … maybe it's still really scaring me now, because … I don't like needing someone. Admitting that. But I felt … I feel … like I needed you then. I was … am … more dependent on you than I realized."

He just gazed at her. "Erin, I need you too. I know that. I don't always like that. I don't want to treat you like a crutch. Or make you responsible for the ways I'm fucked up. But I do need you in my life. Being around you has made me a better person. A better cop. A better man. I've told you that before."

She stared at him. She looked at the scruff on his face. At the soft lines. His delicate eyes. And she leaned forward onto her knee and kissed him. She could feel the surprise in his body. Against his mouth. In his arm coming up off the back of the couch but not coming around her. So she set herself back down onto her heel and stared at him again.

"That was for not giving up on me," she told his confused eyes.

But they softened a bit and he leaned forward too. His hand found her cheek that time and his lips found her mouth. It was brief. But they pressed against hers firmly before he backed away and looked at her again. His thumb still caressing gently along her jaw.

"What was that for?" she squinted at him. Though, she could feel a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

He shrugged at her. "It was because I wanted to kiss you," he rasped at her. "I always do. Since … one month in?"

She gave him a thin smile at that effort. "Took that long?"

But she could feel some of the sadness setting in her own eyes again as she saw it flicker in his too. Because this wasn't easy. And it wasn't coming easy either.

She wanted to explain better. To explain more. To find the right words. Or the right anecdotes. The right examples and explanations. Not just from the past six weeks or the month or so leading up to it. Or since the interrogation room and administrative leave. Or since November and Bunny. Or since Justin. Since Hank had gotten locked up and mixed up with IA. Since Justin was hell-bent on wrecking his life — and had damaged a bunch of people's in his path while he was on that course. Since Camille. Or since Nadia. Or since each and every one of her kill shots. Or since each and every one of the victims she hadn't helped. Or the perps she hadn't caught. The ones that had gotten away and the people she'd let down. Since Charlie. Since Annie and Travis. Since her banana peel. Since dope and strange men's cars. Since hand jobs and blowjobs. And since trying to keep the lights and the water on. Since not knowing where she'd sleep on a given night or the kind of people Bunny would have in the house. Since Teddy had disappeared. Since she'd been born. Since Bunny, in general.

She wanted to tell him it wasn't one thing. That it wasn't him. That it was her. And it was just timing. Because now — six weeks out — now being home, now seeing Ethan so sick, now looking back, she couldn't pinpoint exactly where her head was at. Why she'd made her decision. What her reasoning was. Why it made sense to her.

She was just as mortified as she'd picked Bunny. Because where was Bunny now? And what had that done to her actually family? To her real relationships? What had it done to herself again? Because … she felt more fucked up than when she left in new and different ways. More confused. More empty. And just lonely and confused. And a different kind of anger. That she wasn't sure where or how to direct. That she didn't even like to feel.

"I just … I just want you to know that I meant it, Jay, when I said I'm completely in love with you," Erin said. "I … these past six weeks, this assignment … I know it more than before. I don't want a few months to be another few and another few. I want to come home. I mean that."

And she did. She really did. Right now, being home, the concept that she'd be leaving again on Wednesday caused an ache she wasn't sure how to deal with. It hurt too much. And she didn't know this time how she was going to go. How she was going to make herself go out that door and close it. To leave behind Jay. And Ethan. And Hank. And Chicago.

She just wanted a do-over. Another one. One for the past six weeks. One for last night. Maybe one for her life. But that wasn't the way life worked.

And, "Okay …," was all Jay allowed.

And Erin wasn't sure he believed her. She wasn't sure she saw trust or belief in his eyes. But why would she? She'd betrayed that. More than once.

Still, she saw something.

A flicker. The tiny spark of his usual twinkle. Somewhere under there. And for now – that was going to have to be enough. For her. For them. Something to work with. Something to fan the flames. To build up again. A start.

 **AUTHOR NOTE: The next chapter will be a Jay/Erin too. This didn't write exactly the way I wanted. I didn't get everything in that I wanted to either. Hopefully in the next chapter things will work themselves in and it will work out better overall.**

 **I had planned for about five more chapters for this story. But due to time constraints and other commitments, writing projects and personal/professional what-not, I'm not sure it will be that many. And there might be some longer gaps between chapters getting posted for the next while. We'll see how it goes.**


	17. Chapter 17

**Title: The Way From Here**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Erin must deal with the consequences of her decision to take a position in FBI counter-intelligence at the expense of her relationship with Jay and her relationship with her family. But an emergency with her younger brother provides her with the opportunity to re-examine her choices and to try to rectify any damages to her relationships. This story takes place in the AU established in Interesting Dynamics.**

 **SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers in this collection from Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas, Scenes, Aftermath and So It Goes (including chapters/scenes in So It Goes that have not yet been written or posted). This series also contains SPOILERS related to the finale of Season 4 of Chicago PD.**

Jay rotated his head as he heard the door leading onto their little balcony click open. Bear heard it too. Lost all interest in the passive head pats and ear scratching he was giving him. He was up and trotting down the steps to the balcony. A clear indication it was Erin who was up and looking for him – not Will.

The two of them emerged at the top of the stairs – into the rooftop patio. Bear pushing past Erin's legs – doing his best to trip her – and coming back to him just as quickly as he'd gone charging to her. Planting his ass back down next to Jay and looking up at him like he'd done a real good job and brought him a real good gift – turning and panting in Erin's general direction again.

"Hey …," she greeted a little sleepily as she got up there.

She was underdressed for the middle of a June night in Chicago when they were sitting on top of a roof. It seemed like anymore she always favored his clothes after sex. His tank top and this time a pair of his boxers rolled down and riding low on her hips. He knew from past experience just how loosely that sat there and just how easily they slipped off again. And just how much space they provided to get whatever access he needed or wanted before – or even without – slipping them off her.

So he shouldn't complain. Both pieces of clothing definitely looked way better on her than they did on him. Not that he was trying to make a fashion statement with either. And not that she ever was either. But she undoubtedly made them look sexier than he did.

Sometimes, maybe a lot of times, he sort of liked the look better than that outfit she'd brought home and had in that box that one time. She'd looked good in that too. But it also didn't quite look like her. Not the Erin he knew. It was always a little strange to see her in things like that. Not just lingerie. A dress. Heels. The overly feminine jewellery or flowing, silky blouses. Undercover clothes. Courtroom clothes. Occasional dressed up clothes.

It wasn't like he didn't like the sight of her in them. It was just jarring in a way because it so wasn't how he saw her when he saw her in his mind's eye. Maybe it was in such juxtaposition from the person – and the personality – he knew she was. Feminine – a girl, a woman – but rough around the edges. He knew she had to be. It was how she'd grown-up. It was how you needed to be on the job. But he liked it too. A lot.

He wasn't entirely sure what to make of her picking his clothing rather than her own that night. He wasn't sure if he should read it as her feeling more comfortable – more reconciled – than he felt they were. Or if maybe he should just try to see it as her wanting to be near him. And maybe that was a good thing. Something they needed.

He really didn't know.

Jay didn't know how to navigate this. He wasn't even sure what he was supposed to be feeling. How to act. And he knew it was showing his inexperience at relationships. Maybe it was really showing his inexperience at emotions. Or handling them.

But he was trying to be an adult about this. Trying to be a man. Trying to just not fuck it up more than it was already fucked up. But it was hard. It was confusing.

Because he was still really fucking angry with her. But it wasn't like he didn't love her. Or that he didn't want to be near her. Or that he wanted her going and finding somewhere else to sleep that night. He'd had his moment where he needed to remove himself from the situation before he said or did anything that would fuck up their relationship more. But after cooling down he was back to just compartmentalizing it. To trying to sort it out. And it was strange because even with all the frustration he felt with her – and how much she'd hurt him – he was also just really glad she'd come home that night. Glad she was there. Because he wanted to be near his best friend. He really wanted to try to feel some of the stability that she usually brought into his life. And even though he didn't want to –he also so just wanted to – give her some comfort too. Because he could see she was hurting and confused and just exhausted from it all too.

And maybe … maybe that's what a real, grown-up, long-term relationship where you were in it for the long haul was. It was somehow being able to hit pause on some of the bullshit that was happening in your life and the relationship and to still be able to see the good in that person and in what you had. To still want to be with them and around them even though you were angry at them. Even though you hated the entire situation you were in and you really didn't want to have to figure out how to navigate out of it. But feeling that way – being able to hit that pause at least in that one area – made you willing to do the work to slog through the rest of the mess. Being in the fucking trenches all over again. But you sort of just had to hope that the other person really did have your back. That you weren't just holding onto a fucking grenade.

He watched as she wandered over. Slow. She always did this fucking tippy-toe walk when she was in her sleepwear too. Or maybe post-sex wear. And it was a killer. It always ultimately meant if they were done – they weren't done. Not then. Though, this time maybe the walk had more to do with her bare feet and the cold paving stones than it did with any sort of catwalk.

She crawled into the lounger he'd be laying on – staring out across their view of the park, staring straight up at the sky – and curled up next to him. He let her. He wrapped his arm around her.

"You're going to freeze dressed like that," he told her.

She just snuggled closer. And he let her again. "You're always a heater."

"And you're always an ice block," he provided.

At least her feet were. He didn't know how she could exist in the winter with feet that cold. Especially with the kind of boots she wore in the snow. Fucking motorcycle boots. She never made the switch to anything even Thinuslated. Like she was some kind of tough guy.

And he'd learned that even though she rarely commented on how cold she was while they were on case or on stake-out since living with her, when they got home, peeling her socks off and putting on the kind of socks that she should've had in her boots in the first place on was a priority. Quickly followed by her shoving them under his thighs on the couch – or rammed into his calves or up behind his knees if they were in bed. Or if she was feeling especially cheeky that night – thinking that trying to wedge them into his armpits was cute.

But he knew that was just her trying to get a reaction out of him. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it didn't. And it depended on how he was feeling a particular night just what kind of reaction it got. Though, having someone's feet shoved into your armpits really wasn't sexy. But, occasionally, the wrestling that followed it to get her iceblock the hell away from him, quickly turned into something else. That he'd wager warmed her up a lot better than his armpit anyway.

She just yawned against him and settled some more. He should tell she was trying to get comfortable. But there was only so much space on the chair and he sort of wished they had a blanket up there because she didn't need to be catching a cold while she was here either. Her body was going to be run down enough for dealing with all of it.

"Sorry I fell asleep," she muttered. He actually thought she sounded like she might fall asleep again.

"It's okay," he said. "You needed it."

And she had. He could see it in her whole body. And he knew too that you could only push your body so far safely. That if you pushed it much farther than that that it had a whole lot of implications for how you processed and interacted and coped with anything. He wanted her to be in her best shape that she could manage to cope with some of the shit they had in front of them. For them and their relationship. But for Eth and Voight too.

And Jay knew how Erin was. She refused to let herself sleep when things were on the go. That she'd go twenty-nine and a day before she did. Run herself into the ground. He was pretty sure she was already working on that. Whatever the assignment was. U.C. involved a lot of long and weird hours. And he was fairly sure that until that night she hadn't slept since finding out Eth was in the hospital. Not the night before.

Just like he was sure the only reason she'd been able to let herself sleep was because they'd managed to talk a little bit. That they'd managed to both keep their cool. That they'd managed to express they still loved and cared about each other. And that they'd both managed to not … hurt each other in the bedroom again. She'd managed to let herself enjoy it. And he'd managed to get her off. And that mentally and emotional and physical release that collided together could be a decent sedative. It was glad it had been for her. Even if she'd only slept for a while.

"Your brother is really loud," she mumbled against him.

"Yea …," Jay acknowledged. "He can be an ass."

He'd heard him come in from shift too. Will didn't know how to do much of anything without attracting attention to himself.

"Why are you up here?" she asked. "Everything okay?"

Jay shrugged a little under her. There was no easy way to answer that because everything was not okay. But he supposed it was better than the night before. And it was definitely better than any night the past six weeks without her there at all.

"I couldn't sleep," he allowed. "Didn't want to wake you and knew Will would likely be home soon. Really didn't want to risk him thinking me being downstairs meant that I wanted to hear his opinion on anything."

Erin made a small sound against him. He knew they'd seen each other. He didn't get the impression they'd talked. He wasn't sure them talking to each other was a great idea. Not right now. Because Will's opinion on the whole situation was about as bullshit as the situation itself was. And Jay didn't think for the disaster that was Will's personal life and relationship history that anything his brother said on the matter held much water. Despite what Will thought about his opinion on anything. He always knew better than you no matter the topic. It was how he was. How he always would be. Though, at least he'd been forced (or force-fed) to eat some humble soup lately.

"I think there's some college kids making out in the park," he said instead and gave a point in the general direction he'd seen movement.

Erin made a sound that was slightly more amused that time and briefly lifted her head to follow his finger and then give him a look. "So you're actually up here being some kind of Peeking Tom?" He got the raised eyebrow.

"If I was doing that I'd go get my night-vision goggles," he said. It got another small sound out of her. And he just held her. "I was actually thinking about going all grouchy old man on them and bellowing at them about getting off my lawn."

"It's a city park, Jay," she muttered.

He made another small gesture into the area. "It's the closest thing we've got to a backyard."

"Let them be kids," she said.

He allowed a noise. "College kids," he said and shook his head only to rest his cheek on top of her. "It shows how much this area is fucking gentrifying. Already."

"Well, it is University Village now, Jay," she said flippantly. "Not Little Italy."

"Our block wasn't supposed to be University Village," he provided. "That was a selling point."

"I think it being in University Village will actually increase its resale value," she said.

Jay made a sound. Because despite what he'd said that morning – and despite the truth of the statement, that he'd sell if she wasn't home by September, if he didn't have an impression of the direction of their relationship by September, if they weren't working on getting to a good place in their relationship by September, if it wasn't improved and stronger that he was going to sell the townhouse – he didn't want to sell the house. At all. It was the first place he'd had in his adult life that actual felt like a home. And not just a place to rest his head. A place he felt comfortable being. That he could see himself keeping still in. That he looked forward to getting home to (until six weeks ago). Maybe in some ways it was the first place he'd ever really felt like that. Because he didn't have those sort of nostalgic feelings about his childhood home either. It'd been a place he'd spent years looking forward to escaping.

"It's not just that," he said. "It's that it's the middle of the night in a park in an area that's west of us—"

"Jay, it's the next block. A block doesn't make a difference."

"It can. In this city," he said. "And they feel safe enough that they are out there in the dark going at it."

"So maybe some of the CPD's programming is actually working," she said. "Or maybe they're thinking with their crotches more than their brains."

He hummed some agreement. And she rubbed her cheek against him and he could feel her gazing down his body. So much so that he looked down at her. At her examination of the sweats he'd pulled onto his lower half. Though, he was still testing his endurance in the cold too in his bare chest and bare feet.

"Doesn't matter how much you stare," he told her, "I'm still going to need a bit."

She made another semi-amused sound and cast him a look. "I was thinking you're cold."

"Thanks," he muttered with notable sarcasm.

She gave him the slight eye-roll that he was going for. Because it made him smile. But instead she ran her hand just above his navel. "You've got goose bumps," she told him – having spotted them even in the dim light they were under.

Jay allowed a quiet grunt. "I'm okay," he said.

It seemed like they were both was over-using that phrase the past thirty-six hours. Maybe a hell of a lot longer than that. That little lie – that turned out to not be so little – that they told each other and they told themselves. To try to avoid having to talk about anything. All the shit they didn't want to talk about. All that baggage that they were supposedly working on putting down. But apparently neither of them really had that well.

That night, though 'okay' was just easier than trying to find any sort of words to really capture how he was actually feeling. He didn't think there were words. It was all just a fucking swirly of emotions. And dealing with that mess was always … it just made things messier for him.

And she must've caught on. Because she kept his eyes for a long moment. She knew. Because she was feeling it too. Maybe for different reasons than him. But he knew she was a fucking mess of contradictory emotions too. Confusing and intense emotion that weren't supposed to go together. Because when they did – shitty things happened.

But she left it. She just draped more of herself over him like her body was going to provide some additional warmth. But maybe it would. Her just being there was helping a bit. Even though it was hurting too.

"Eth could basically walk to UIC from here," she mumbled passively. "And tell people he lived in University Village."

He allowed a wounded smile at that. Because that kind of hurt too. A fucking fantasy. One that was feeling more and more like a fantasy. He wasn't sure which part. That they'd still be together and in that house when Eth was headed to university. That even if they were – and he fucking hoped they were – that they'd want Eth to live with them or that he'd want to live with them. Or that an extra mile to his dad's place made much of any difference when he was living at home for school. Or maybe it was just the school part that hurt. Because there was all the fantasy around that too. Getting him that far. Him being capable enough to get through high school and go on to university. Or the larger question mark of if he'd even be around in those four or five years. And right now picturing Eth still there and picturing what his quality of life and capabilities would look like was hard. Really fucking hard. And it was on the list of things – and the emotions that came with it – that Jay didn't really want to think about. It wasn't a fucking distraction from what him and Erin were wading through. It was just this added layer to the entire fucking swirly mess.

But he knew why Erin said it. She wasn't the first to say something like that in this past while. She wouldn't be the last. It was all these delusions that they were kind of holding onto in the hope that one of them would stick and become reality. A fucking fantasy they were living in too.

"He wants to go to U of C," Jay told her, though.

He joined the work of fiction they were letting themselves get invested in. And, she made a quiet sound. A little wounded. He wasn't sure he'd said it to wound her but he could understand why it had.

"They have palentology courses," he added. "Some summer program, a dig, for high schoolers. The Bridge kids. He's been a broken record about."

He wanted to say incoherent. But Erin had been to the hospital now. She'd seen. She'd know. That it was pretty much a fifty-fifty draw – maybe that was a fantasy too, it was more like seventy-five percent odds – on if Eth was going to make any kind of sense while you were there. And even if he was forming words it was all just the dinosaurs and palentology and Bridge and Jurassic Park. More than usual. It was all this rapid fire one-offs of these things he was trying to keep himself believing he was going to do that summer. Most of which – another fantasy, because Jay was pretty sure it was going to be all of which – wouldn't be happening.

Or worse, the kid would be just staring at the ceiling – or a wall or so vacant you couldn't even tell if he was still occupying his body – and be rattling off numbers. Ones that Voight had to tell him were baseball stats. From years ago. Dug out of some kind of recess of his brain. But just like he was some kind of broken computer and 1s and 0s were streaming across the backs of his eyes and being spit out of his mouth for future reference. Endlessly. In a way that made even Voight look uncomfortable. More uncomfortable than Jay had seen the guy in a whole host of other situations that likely should classify as a hell of a lot more jarring. But not for Voight.

And Jay could understand. There was something disconcerting about watching a kid laying there coming undone – like their mainframe was just melting down – and you couldn't do anything.

He'd been in the room as Voight tried to get Eth to calm. Or maybe more to just shut up. And Jay had to leave. Because he could see that the guy was nearing unravelling himself. That he was trying to hold it together because Jay was sitting right there. And he'd barely gotten out the door before he'd heard the guy's voice get even more gravellier than usual. He'd heard him rattle out a, "C'mon, Magoo, you've got to stop. You've got to calm down." And there'd been a clear choked by sob – an attempt at it in there. And Jay wasn't sure how to deal with that either. And he'd wished that day that Erin was there – again, as usual – because she might've known how to deal with it. She might've been able to help Eth calm. And she was someone that was allowed to see Voight like that. And maybe she could've helped him too that day.

And maybe he'd said enough – that calling Eth a broken record was enough for her to get it - because the sound that came out of her was more wounded that time. And she got really still. Too still. But he held at her. For a long time until she shifted and looked up at him.

"Jay, what happened?" she put to him. "What really happened?"

He let out a slow breath and stared across the park again – trying to pinpoint where those kids had gone. But he couldn't make out movement in the shadows anymore. Maybe they were done. Or maybe they'd come to their senses and found somewhere a little more private and a little more safe to get fucked.

Not that there was really such a thing. The world fucked you. And even if you were fucking around in the privacy of your own home with someone you really cared about – eventually you were going to get fucked anyway. That was life. It wasn't fair. Jay knew that. But sometimes it felt like year after year life found new ways to at least remind you just how fucked up it could be. Just how unfair it was. Just how life sense any of it made. How fucked humanity it was. And how fucking fragile life was. And just how stupid and hateful and violent that people – society – was. And how much he fit into all those little boxes too.

"Ah … some of the details are fuzzy," he said. "Eth … either doesn't remember what happened or he doesn't want to talk about it."

"Why?" she pressed. "Why won't he talk about it?"

He sighed and held her. He could take the easy way out. Just tell her that he didn't know. But she'd know that was a lie. Or he could just remind her bluntly that Eth was in the hospital drugged out of his mind and drifting in-and-out of consciousness. He wasn't exactly the kind of person they'd label as a supporting witness to anything that had happened. But nothing about their relationship – or the family he wanted, the family he'd had and lost and wanted to rebuild and expand and to just have something in his life – was easy. Even if some people had – previously – thought they made it look that way.

"Erin there's the medical side to what happened and then there's the what happened," he said.

"So what happened," she put more firmly and really kept his eyes, shifting her position and pulling herself up his body a bit so it was harder to look away. But at the same time they were almost too close together to really focus on much. Maybe that was easier too, though.

Still, this wasn't easy so he gripped even more tightly at her shoulder. "You remember how he was having some trouble with the kids who were giving him shit about the bathroom?"

She processed that for a beat. "Those little assholes starting shit about him not having a dick?"

He shifted back in the lounger to give them a bit more space – so he could actually look at her eyes. They'd changed. She was awake now. And she was getting pissed.

"They followed him into the bathroom," Jay put to her. Her face – her eyes – changed more and more. "Four of them. Three boys and a girl. They pantsed him. Two of the guys held him. The other two – one was taking video, the other pictures."

Erin's mouth gaped a bit. And her eyes got duller. Pain and hurt flooded them over taking the anger that he knew was still there. That it'd flip back on. "No …" she mouthed quietly.

He nodded at her. "The idiots posted it online."

"No," she spat more firmly.

Jay kept her eyes still because he didn't need to answer that. He already had. Instagram. SnapChap. Periscope. It didn't matter the medium. Once it was out there, it was out there.

And he saw Erin's eyes sparkle. Not with her tease. With tears. Because she knew how this went.

"Did we get it all down?" she asked.

"We're working on it," Jay said. "We got the originals. But the kids started passing it around …"

Erin started at him. There was a deadness to her eyes now. Different than earlier. A different kind of weight. And she found his eyes. He knew his eyes likely looked similar. Because it was hard for him to talk about.

"Does Ethan know?" she asked.

"He's not talking about it right now," he said.

She kept opening her mouth like she was trying to find words. But she didn't know what to say.

"Are you …"

"I'm fine," he interjected before she could try to find any other words.

Her eyes sparkled more. With tears and she looked at him. Her hand came up and held at his shoulder.

"I know you don't want to talk about it," she whispered.

"Erin," he warned.

"We don't have to talk about it," she said. "I just … I just want you to know that it's not your fault."

"I know," he pressed out.

She squeezed his shoulder. "I know you know," she said. "I just want to remind you. I want you to remember."

"I know …" he said flatly.

He couldn't look at her. He kept his eyes fixed off into the darkness. Sometimes it felt like he was always gazing off into the darkness. Maybe that was something Eth had right. Some sort of blessing in all of this. Maybe the world was easier to navigate when you didn't have all the fucking monsters and demons in it trying to pass themselves off as regular people. Trying to blend into something of beauty. The world wasn't a place of beauty. It was all just camouflage for what humanity and life was really like.

"I'm glad he has you," she whispered against him. "For … if he remembers. When he's ready to talk about it."

"That's a part of me he's never going to know about," Jay put flatly.

She lay against him. He could feel a small spot of wetness pooling on his chest there her head at resting. And he held her a bit tighter.

"I can't stand you went through that, Jay," she said. "That you went through it and you didn't have anyone you could talk to or who'd help you."

"It was a long time ago," he said. "We all go through stuff in childhood. You did."

She shifted to look up at him. "Ethan … he needs to be allowed to talk. To know we're trying to help. That we can. That we will."

"We're working on it …" Jay said.

She rubbed her cheek against his chest. "Not just at work, Jay. At home …"

"He'll be okay," he tried. "He's a brave kid."

"Being brave doesn't mean you need to face everything on your own …," Erin said.

He gazed down at her and she brought her eyes up to his. "I'm trying not to," he said and earned a small frown from her. "I love you."

It got a weak smile. But he could feel her examining him. Thinking about it. Looking at him. That piece of himself that he wished he could erase from her memory. That they really didn't need to go into detail about. Because it was long ago. He wasn't that weak, scared, meek, lanky kid anymore. He wasn't going to let that time of his life define him. It didn't define him. He was more than that. He'd become more than that.

"You must've wanted to …" she shook her head.

"I did," he admitted quietly. "I went after the priest. When we went to the school." He made a noise and he looked down at surprised face. "Upton stopped me," he said. "But … even just getting in his face. It felt good. But … it's likely best she stopped me. I don't know." He looked at her. "She didn't stop Hank."

Her face changed again. "Caruso? Hank … ? Frank? He said … that he went after the ringleaders dad?"

"He got the names of the kids involved out of Caruso," Jay put flatly.

It hadn't been pretty. But he'd said Voight do worse. He'd stood there wanting to do worse. He'd wanted to wail on that guy. To bloody him. To make him pay for everything Eth had been through that year. The past two years. For how the school hadn't protected him. For how this would follow him in some way for the rest of his life. He wanted to make fucking Caruso an example for all the fucking Catholic priests who turned blind-eyes in their schools and churches.

Like that made them any less complacent. Like that made them one of the good guys when other priests – teachers, coaches, students – used and abused and assaulted and raped and traumatized their students. When they took kids into their schools who held all kind of potential and inside let those halls turn them into the empty shells. These fucking haunted beings for the rest of their lives. Because the fucking priests – the fucking principals and administrators and bishops and archbishops and piratical bureaucracy – did nothing. That they turned it into some kind of buy out game that you could only win – only survive through – if you had some kind of money. And the rest of you were just fucking sheep for their so-called Sheppard's to fuck up the ass in the interim.

Erin just stared at him. Stared at the seething that he knew she'd be able to feel in his body. Because he could feel it. The tension. The slight change in his breathing. The slight increase in his heart rate. The angry. The step toward triggering if they dwelled her too long. And he didn't want to.

"Was it Caruso or the parents who got Hank jammed up?" she asked.

"The priest let it drop," he said. "I guess they go way back." Like everyone in the fucking city when it came to Voight. Especially in the neighborhood. This side of the city. West Side. South Side. You couldn't move without bumping into someone who knew Voight. And near everyone – the wrong everyone – knew of Voight.

Erin let out a slow breath. He could feel it shake a bit against him. There was tension in her body too. Anger as well.

"I want to … I would've …," she shook her head.

"So then two of you would've been jammed up," Jay said. "Or worse."

She sighed and tried to settle herself against him. But it didn't feel settled anymore. "Did Caruso expel the kids?"

"Ringleader expelled," Jay said. "After Voight's conversation. And right into some other hoity-toity school."

"When you've got money in Chicago …" Erin muttered.

"The others suspended. Don't get to go to grad. Will be there again in September."

"Fucking …" but she couldn't find words either. And they just lay there. For a long time. Forever it felt like. As they both tried to calm. Tried to find someway to make any of all of it make any sense. To make any of it or all of it easier. "What's the medical part of what happened?" she finally asked. "How he is now?"

Jay slowly exhaled and held at her. "Voight's only telling me so much and I've only been there so much when the doctors have been around."

"Will …," she put flatly.

And he held her again. "All that follow-up stuff he had scheduled this month, for the trial …"

"Yea …," she acknowledged. But the sadness was now layered with guilt. He could hear it there.

"He didn't get the round of chemo in June, Erin," he said. "He was already on a hold. Some more tests where supposed to be run. They were still deciding what to do with him."

"Because the MRIs saw new lesions," she said flatly.

"Yea," Jay allowed. "And … I guess … what happens, what happened …. Was that Eth was scared. He was trying to fight them off. His body was trying to release adrenaline and reaction. But with the lesions, with just how fucked up his nervous system is now, the messages weren't getting where they needed to be properly. That hitting onto one of those lesions sent him into a seizure."

She gazed at him. "So … then they left him alone? Got help?" He knew she was grasping at straws. He knew that she knew that wasn't how kids worked. It wasn't how Ignatius worked.

"The kids freaked out," Jay nodded at her. "They dropped him. Hit his head. Blood coming out of his nose. Bit his tongue. Blood there."

Her eyes watered harder. And he could feel the slight shake in her chest again where it was pressing against his shoulder.

"Tried to get his pants back up. Couldn't. So they split."

"They left him …," she said. It sounded so broken. It sounded as broken as Eth looked right now. It was her breaking more. The realization of just what she'd missed while she'd been gone.

"It was the girl who called 911," Jay provided. "After freaking out to her friends about it. They were all waiting and giggling down the hall. Because this is some fucking … ambush … to prove if he has a dick. If he's gay. Because the fucking Grade Eights have decided that if you aren't bragging about blowjobs and handjobs and getting laid in the john – not just are you a loser. You're gay."

"It's Middle School …" Erin croaked out.

Jay shrugged. "And it's been going on for a while. Weeks. Months. They've been teasing him and taunting him and egging him on. He's been fighting with his dad about not going to school. Didn't want to go to Confirmation. Got picked up by Patrol on a Truancy. Calls from RIC that he was showing up in the drop-in in the middle of the day on a school day. Calls from Eva's dad because he's showing up there after school because he doesn't want the kids following him home. Because he knows they won't follow him into Eva's neighborhood."

"I … just …" Erin started and she got silent again.

"Holly's friends with – or fucking – the ringleader. She's feeding him bullshit. Egging him on too. That kid is … on the next step, in the next yard … trying to …" he shook his head. "Turn Eth's life into … hell. His birthday …"

"What happened?" Erin demanded.

Jay sighed and shook his head again. "It doesn't matter." Only it did. But it also really didn't. "What mattered is that Eth was trying not getting involved in this … lunchtime bathroom pornography … this fucking photographic proof these kids were collecting of their classmates like Magoo collects his fucking baseball and dinosaur cards. Because he's thirteen. Fourteen. He's sick. He hasn't gone through puberty yet. He's a good kid. He's got some self-respect. He's got respect for other people. He's not dickless or gay."

"I know …," Erin said.

"And these kids? He doesn't want to get involved? Doesn't want to have one of his first sexual experiences in a dirty middle school boys' bathroom? Gay. Hold him down, pants him and have a girl there - who's fucking viciously mocking him in this video they posted - and he – surprise – doesn't get it up. Gay. Goes into a seizure he's so scared. Gay. These kids treating him like he's the one with the problem. I don't want to think about what the fuck these parents were doing at home that … any of this is okay."

"I …," Erin's voice cracked. "I … don't know what to say."

"The jagoffs run away like pussys," Jay continued. "Leave him there. It's the little tag-along bitch, who needs her friends to tell her to do it, that calls 911. Ambo – Gabby – gets to the school. The administrators don't even know what's happening or why they're there yet. The girl hadn't gone and told a teacher or anything. So Eth had been left seizing, bleeding, loss of control of his bladder, bubbling spit, hit head, pants down on the floor. For … at least a good fifteen, twenty minutes."

"He could've died …," she mumbled. But her face buried more into his shoulder.

"The kids are fucking lucky he didn't hit his head on the urinal going down. That he didn't choke on his tongue," Jay agreed.

And she just griped him. She held at his shoulder. And he held at hers. And he felt more of tears pool there.

"He can't go through this alone," she managed. But her voice was broken. Just like her body. "You know … you know what that does to a kid, Jay."

"Yea …," he put flatly. "I do. Just like I know you need to come home. Not yesterday. Not temporarily. Now."

"I'm here …," she said. "I'm trying."

And he really wanted to believe her. And he thought maybe he did. Maybe he was starting to. He hoped. For both of them. For all of them. For him. Because Jay knew too he wasn't going to be able to help Eth – not through this – not without Erin there. He didn't know how to do it. He hadn't been able to do it for himself. And he didn't know who or what he was – to himself or anyone else in her life – when she wasn't there. So it needed to end. It needed to stop. She needed to come home. They needed to figure this out.

For better or worse. He needed that promise. He needed it again. Now. Before the ring. Before they could heal. He needed to hear it so much.

 **AUTHOR NOTE: Well this chapter didn't write the way I wanted to either. At all. Posting anyway. Obviously. Not sure if I'll try another Jay/Erin chapter to fix it or just move on as planned. Or maybe with how hard the past two chapters have been to write and organize, it's a sign that it's time to move on from this story. Again, might be a bit before I update — got lucky with getting this one out — so I guess I'll have some time to decide how to play it (or if to play it at all).**

 **And for those worried I'm going to "stop writing". That's not the case. I write a lot. It's just that 95% of my writing isn't FF. Part of the reason I will be putting less time into FF puttering (or warm-up/cool-down exercises as the chapters often are for me) is because other writing projects will be taking up more of my time and consciousness for the next while.**


	18. Chapter 18

**Title: The Way From Here**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Erin must deal with the consequences of her decision to take a position in FBI counter-intelligence at the expense of her relationship with Jay and her relationship with her family. But an emergency with her younger brother provides her with the opportunity to re-examine her choices and to try to rectify any damages to her relationships. This story takes place in the AU established in Interesting Dynamics.**

 **SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers in this collection from Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas, Scenes, Aftermath and So It Goes (including chapters/scenes in So It Goes that have not yet been written or posted). This series also contains SPOILERS related to the finale of Season 4 of Chicago PD.**

Erin glanced up as she heard Jay's quick trot down the stairs to the main level of the townhouse. He gave her a mildly surprised look, raising his eyebrow at her sitting on the stool at their kitchen counter in the midst of her coffee.

"I didn't hear you come back," he said and came down the rest of the steps. She'd had to force herself to get up and on the go early. Not unusual in her current life but unusual in their past life. Jay had always been up and facing the day before her.

"Shower," she put to him flatly, and took another sip of her coffee as he grunted some acknowledgement on why he hadn't heard her come in – and apparently just how quiet she'd managed to be downstairs since he'd gotten out of there - and opened the door to gaze into the near empty fridge.

It was abundantly clear that he hadn't been spending much time at the townhouse. And it sort of hurt. It sort of struck her. It told her … a lot. But she didn't know what to say to him about any of it. It was more of another quiet acknowledgement thing. A glaring example of just what her leaving had done to him too. To them. To their relationship.

Since buying the house – or, really, since getting their mortgage – they'd put a bit of a renewed commitment into eating at home. Trying to save some money so they could afford the place and all the extra bills and budget surprises that seemed to come up with homeownership. The fridge and cupboards were usually stocked pretty well. They'd become one of those couples that fucking grocery shopping pretty much amounted to date night. Or at least an after-shift activity. Though, maybe doing that created some illusion of normalcy in their lives and distraction after a case. But there wasn't much remnant of all that – their previous life or attempt at a relationship and making home … or just playing house – left in the fridge. And maybe it not being left in the fridge – in the cupboards – said even more about what remnants were left of their previous life and relationship too. Just how much rebuilding – restocking – she really needed to do. That they needed to do together if it was actually going to work.

She likely should've stopped to pick up something while she was out. But she hadn't. Because she'd more wanted to ensure she was back to the townhouse before he left for work. So she could get a little bit more face time with him. So they could talk a little bit more. So she could keep trying to get a read on where they where and where they were at and where they should go from here. Where he wanted to go from here.

"I made fresh coffee," she told him.

He hummed acknowledgement again and rose from his gaze into the fridge, shutting the door and retrieving a mug to pour the fluid into.

"Made breakfast too," she added and gestured at the toaster.

He glanced at it. "Putting toast in the toaster does not equate making breakfast."

Erin shrugged. "I see you've got the good peanut butter right now," she teased name, nudging the Skippy's across the counter.

He pushed down his toast and then pushed the Skippy's back toward her. "That is not peanut butter. It is edible oil an product and sugar."

She took a bite of her toast. "Yum."

He shook his head at her and opened the cupboard to retrieve a jar of raw almond butter. Apparently it wasn't popular enough (meaning it was disgusting enough) that some of it was still in the cupboard six weeks later.

"Did you get it?" he asked as he watched his toast toast and his coffee cool – his back to her.

"Yeah," she muttered. The toast was sticking to the roof of her mouth. It was like it was it was trying to keep her from having any more conversation with him – lest she stick her foot in her mouth again. So she just retrieved the burner phone she'd gone and got and waved it in his general direction until he gave a glance. "Want the number?"

That got another grunt. She wasn't sure if it was a good or bad thing that he was in mute mood. Jay was never much of a talker unless the situation necessitated it. But the few words made her worry that the bit of progress they'd made hadn't been real progress and he was shutting her out – punishing her for her choices – again. Or still.

But he pulled his own phone out of his pocket and cast her a look. So she rattled off the number and watched him key it into his contacts. Then it went back into his pocket.

"Is that your personal or work phone?" she asked. She hadn't recognized it. It looked new.

"Oh …," he mumbled as his toast popped. He plopped it on a plate and the phone near her on the counter. "It's what they gave me for while I'm sitting in Voight's office."

"Moving up in the world," she said at the slightly newer and slightly less used technology he'd been temporarily loaned.

"The number's the same."

She allowed a thin smile to that. There was a slight edge to how he'd said it. So she gazed at him again – watching his movements, the determined but practiced way he stirred the almond butter and slathered it onto the bread, though all somewhat stiffly and maybe a little too angrily for something as simple and inanimate as breakfast food.

"Jay …," she put back out there, getting another brief glance. "I know the circumstances aren't the best, and that it's just temporary, but it's really great that they gave you point in Intelligence. I'm happy for you."

All it got was another shrug. "All it's doing is proving to me that I'm not interested in getting behind a desk yet. Or any of the B.S. and politics that go along with a supervisory gig."

Erin tried to weigh that too. Tried to decide how that fit into anything. Now. The future. Their past. His past. What it meant. How she was supposed to react. What she was supposed to say. She didn't really know. Not anymore. She felt like she still had to be cautious. That they were still operating some sort of landmine field. That one wrong move and the bit of progress they'd made might just all blow up in their faces. In her face. Just when she was starting to feel like maybe she sort of had a grip on things.

So she decided it was best not to comment. Not to press him more. Not to say she actually meant what she said. That she was actually proud of him. That he deserved to get some recognition in the unit. That he'd proved himself more than enough to be given that role and responsibility. Not just then – but in the long term. And that she was proud of him too. Proud of the achievement. Despite the circumstances. But she didn't think he wanted to hear any of that. Not from her. Not now. And maybe not ever. He likely just saw it was doing his job. It seemed to be how he viewed most things. Maybe it was how he viewed their relationship too. Or why he was still involved with Eth. With her family. In her absence.

She gazed at the book she'd spotted sitting in the front room and had been flipping through while she waited for him to come downstairs.

"Don't drip peanut butter on that," Jay said. He clearly didn't want to dwell on his work situation at all. He didn't want to talk about that. He was changing topics. Noted.

"I'm not," she said a little defensively, but he was already reaching over and pulling it away from her. Shutting it. And she wondered what that said too. She gazed at him. "Where'd you get that?"

He gave a little shrug. "The cabin."

Erin gazed at him again at that. "You've been up there?"

He steadied himself against the counter, crossing his arms as best as he could with a piece of toast in one hand and a mug in the other. He looked a little silly and not nearly as statuesque as she suspected he was trying to go for. "Needed a change of scenery. Hadn't been up yet to open it this spring."

"You went alone?" she pressed.

"I am capable of both driving myself and existing on my own," he put flatly. "Not just a house husband."

And she knew that was true. But she was also seeing evidence around the house – around their home – that it wasn't. She could see it written all over on him. She knew it four years ago. She'd learned it as she'd gotten to know him as a person. As a partner, as a friend, as a boyfriend, as a finance. Jay didn't do well with self-care. Not that she did either. But he internalized, compartmentalized and buried himself in work and whatever other distractions he could find to survive. And she supposed that was just life. But she also wasn't sure – maybe she'd learned – it was actually living.

But it was yet something else she left alone. Because his tone still indicated that they were operating in that minefield. That she needed to be careful in what she said and did. How she acted. She knew from things he'd already said that he was taking everything she said with a grain of salt. That he wasn't quite ready to believe anything she said. That he didn't want to buy into false promises. That he'd only start believing her when he saw some action. And she supposed she was going to have to show him that. Do that. The trick was going to be doing it in a way that didn't trigger him. That didn't cause them to blow up at each other again. Or in a worse and more hurtful way.

"A lot of fossil hunting up there?" she put to him and reached to drag the nature guide back closer to her, despite his insistence that she not drip food onto it.

"Some," he said. "It was something to keep us busy when we were kids. My granddad took us out to some other spots where the pickings were a bit more likely."

She allowed an amused little smile at that and paged through it again. "He ever take you to Mazon Creek?" she asked.

"A couple times," Jay acknowledged.

"Camille liked going out there," Erin said with a little shake of the head. She hadn't remembered that – thought of it – for years. She should've. It would've been something Ethan would've liked. A lot. He probably still would. But she'd never really been much for going anywhere that had mosquitoes as big as your head or the potential to end up with Lyme disease or that you'd voluntarily sleep under a tarp on the ground in the cold with only a blanket – by choice.

"I know," Jay said.

She glanced at him with some surprise. Surprise – wonder – at how he knew. Surprise that he knew about yet another little tidbit of family history – her past, her teens, the life she'd had – that was smacking her across the face over and over again in the past couple days.

"Hank," Jay put to her flatly.

She allowed a sound of acknowledgement but still looked at him. Because Hank didn't get overly personal with Jay. Hank rarely said much about Camille even to them. It was a handful of days in a year that he said anything. His trigger days, she supposed. And it was usually the same set of stories he shared over and over again. She had most of the memorized. They'd become as much a part of her narrative as they were the ones that had been selected to construct some sort of vision of Camille – of his mom – for Eth. Mazon Creek – the weekend drives out there – weren't on the list.

"Eth went out and bought a beginner geologist kit," Jay said. "After he got accepted into The Bridge program. Has been really excited about it, wanting to get to use it. Hank told him they'd go out that way. That his mom liked out there. Took Justin, took him – when they were little."

Erin allowed a small smile at that. But she nodded. Ethan would love that. He was such a boy of summer with his baseball and his camping and his fishing. And now this. Fossil hunting? Camille would've loved having him as her little buddy and helper. Erin suspected that Eth would've been a lot more helpful – and whined about the outings a whole lot less – than her and Justin had ever been.

The kid was so much his mom. But he was so much his dad too. This weird mix of both of them. Maybe the best of each of them? Maybe she wanted to hope that that was the way it worked. Maybe. Or maybe that was just for the lucky ones.

"Did you know there's a fossil shop out in Evanston?" Jay put to her.

She flipped through some of the pages. "Umm … yea …," she thought about it. "Dave's?"

Jay just shook his head at her. "You realize that your family – Voight – is on a first name basis with all of Chicagoland?"

Erin allowed an amused sound at the comment. There was truth to it. But there wasn't so much in this case. She met his eyes. "Camille used to take Ethan there," she said. "A lot. He has … or had … a little freebie museum set-up in the basement."

And tons of dinosaur toys, she thought. And lots of sparkly gems and rocks and jewels to look at amidst the fossils on display – for purchase. Erin was actually pretty sure if Camille had been around that Eth would've clued into geology as a practical outlet for his interests a lot sooner. A new and more practical way to move into palentology.

But she only shook her head. "I haven't been up there for years," she muttered. "Hadn't thought about it for years."

Jay nodded. "Hank went out. Before his birthday. Picked up a few geodes for the kids to crack open."

Erin stared at him at that. "Hank went?"

"Yeah," Jay put flatly.

Erin shook her head again and gazed down at the pages in front of her. "I don't think he's gone in there since Camille died," she said quietly.

She thought it was on the list of places that Hank just likely wasn't to go back to. And there was a list. Places, traditions, foods, memories – that just stopped. And Eth might not have noticed – he might not realize – but she had. And Justin had.

And Jay must've known something of that too. He must've understood. Because the next thing out of his mouth was, "He's far from perfect, Erin, but he's a decent dad."

She shrugged and kept examining the reference guide. She kept staring at the little charts and diagrams of the different fossils. Their shapes and edges and swirls. The textures of the rocks. The maps of where they might be found. The small text that provided scientific explanation that she suddenly wanted to pretend she was interested in. But instead she brought her eyes back up to Jay.

"I know he's a good dad," she said. "I think that's always been part of the problem."

"That must be a nice problem to have."

She gazed at him and shook her head. She tried to find words. Again. "You know, there were a lot of times growing up – being in that house – that I just wished he was my dad."

"I'm pretty sure that whatever label it is that you want to give it, Erin, that Voight pretty much just goes back to seeing himself as your dad," Jay said.

She shrugged. "I know. But I always thought – as a kid – that it'd just be easier if he was. If he really was. Somehow. And then Bunny … she told me they had a night."

Jay stared at her. That anger flickered in his eyes again. "And you believed her?" The tone was there. The anger. The disbelief. Just the pure scorn.

But Erin only managed another weak shrug. "I guess it fed into the fantasy I wanted to hear then. That it made some kind of sense. Or made sense of things that hadn't made sense at a time where I … was angry, confused."

"And Voight – Hank – really strikes you as the kind of guy who has an affair? With someone like your mom?" he put so starkly.

And she wanted to snap back at him about what he meant by that. About her still being her mom. About what that said about her. But how much she hated how much he hated her mom. That it hurt. That it was hard for her. That she didn't feel like she was allowed – that she even had it in her – to hate Bunny as much as Jay did.

"What's a guy who has an affair look like, Jay?" she put to him.

Jay shook his head at her. His eyes were on fire – because marriage, affairs, husband and wife and all the responsibilities that way with that, it was a touchy area for him. "Not like a guy who's still grieving his wife seven years later," he said. "Who still smiles about her. Who still has her things around the house."

"Maybe there's something to that grief, that guilt," she said.

"What's to that grief and guilt is that he couldn't protect her," Jay pressed at her. "That he couldn't save her. That he couldn't with his eldest son. And now his youngest is in the hospital. And, I'm pretty sure the guy must be feeling like he's going to end up being the last man standing. That that's not how it's supposed to be. Wasn't his plan. And I know, from experience, that you don't want to be the last one left standing in your unit. Your family. Whatever that is. And it brings with it a whole fucking lot of grief and guilt, Erin, that has nothing to do with an affair or whatever other bullshit Bunny spouts."

And she tried to process what he'd said. The implications of his statement. The hints at his past. The hints at things he might've heard at the hospital. The hints at the future. But this was all just layers upon layers and she so felt like she just needed to deal with one layer at a time to get through the next few days. To make any sort of real progress. To find any sort of solution and to start chipping away at it. To get it out of the bedrock.

"Things happen while people are undercover," Erin said.

His eyes flickered. "Has something happened while you're undercover?" he pressed out. There was a hesitation to it but also a bluntness. A quiet accusation like he was just looking for his own confirmation.

"No," she put back firmly. Not yet. She didn't want to let it. But she also knew that if she didn't leave the assignment – if it dragged on for longer than a few months – it would be hard to maintain her cover if she didn't start engaging in a bit more meaningful and more realistic relationships with some of the 'people' (the monsters in human skin) that she was having to interact with. As it was, six weeks in, it was hard to keep up a platonic front. Not to get to the people she needed to get to. Not to garner the trust she needed out of them. Not to get them to run their mouths – to collect her intel – in the way she … the FBI, the country … needed her to. "But you know how it is," she jabbed. "You slept with Gabby."

"I wasn't in a relationship when I was on that assignment," he pushed back at her. "And she wasn't a target."

"She didn't know who you really were," she said. "What you really were."

"And what's that?" he pressed.

She glared. "A cop, Jay."

He shook his head and took a long swig of his coffee.

"Jay, I just meant, that it can happen. Even guys who don't seem the type to have an affair. Look at Al."

He just looked at her over the rim of his mug. It was clear he wasn't going to engage more in this topic.

"It doesn't matter anyway," she said, dropping the last piece of her toast to the plate. She'd lost her appetite. "Hank says he'll do a DNA test. He wouldn't offer that if he thought there was a remote possibility I might actually be his."

"You are his, Erin," Jay said, putting down his mug.

"Right … Voight's girl."

"You've got to stop saying that like it's such a bad thing," Jay told her.

She just sighed and reached to pull over the notepad she'd been jotting down questions on as she thought of them.

"I'm supposed to get some time with one of Ethan's doctors today," she put flatly. "Is there anything you think I should be asking?"

His eyes stayed on her for a long, uncomfortable beat but then he paced to the counter and pulled the notepad toward him, twisting it and reading down the list. He pushed it back toward her.

"I'd like to understand more about why they're giving him the IVIG basically right after the plasma exchange, from what Hank's saying. And if they aren't, if they're going to let him home from the hospital between the two? If the IVIG can just be done out-patient even? And how long it's going to be before they can tell if the fucking plasma exchange is even helping? How much they even expect it to help?"

"Yea …," she nodded but made a note. "I've got the last two. I'll ask a bit about the IVIG, though."

He nodded and spread his hands wide on the countertop, staring down at her as she wrote quickly. She looked up at him as she finished and sat back a bit on the stool.

"So what's the plan?" he asked.

Erin give another small shrug. "Spend some time with him, try to convince Hank to go sleep for a few hours—"

"Good luck with that," Jay said.

She allowed a thin, sad smile. It was true. She knew it would be a futile discussion. That Hank wouldn't leave. This was about the stillest she'd seen Hank. The only other time she could remember him staying in one place this long was when Ethan was in the hospital after his brain injury. And even then it wasn't this still. Not like she'd been witnessing. And it sort of scared her. Worried her. Hank was sort of like a shark, if he stopped swimming, she didn't want to think about what happened.

"And, after I talk to the doctors and have a bit better handle on what's going on, I'm going to have to make some calls and try to sort out what my options are."

He looked at more seriously. "What do you feel like those options are?"

She sighed and hugged her hands around the her mug. She tried to feel its warmth and not the hate of Jay's intense stare.

"Jay, I'm really not enjoying the assignment," she admitted. "It's a good opportunity. It's still a good opportunity. And it's a job. But even while I've been there, six weeks in, I've been mentally counting down."

"What they have you working on, do you really feel like it's going to be wrapped around the three month mark?" he asked.

She made a noise and twisted the mug. "More like four to eight year and then some," she put flatly.

"Ah …," he allowed. It was enough. She knew it. He knew it. Vacuities that were clarities for him to have a bit more understanding what and who they had her embedded in.

She rubbed at her eyebrow. "The group I'm with – what I'm working – something is going to start happening sooner rather than later. But it's just … a Pandora's box."

"Yea …," he allowed. It was a long silence. "It's going to be a lot longer than three months."

"I don't want it to be longer than three months," Erin put back to him. He gazed at her. Stared really. There was a scrutiny to it. "Jay, … I don't know what I was thinking at the time when I made the decision to take the job. I was in … damage—"

"Panic," he said. "Panic mode."

She stared at him too. She let out a slow breath. "I do know that I wasn't thinking of this gig as a permanent move. It was just … some time. Some space. A cool down period."

"So what are you going to tell them you want to do?" he pressed.

"Jay, I don't know what I'm supposed to do here. I know that I don't want to lose our relationship. I don't want to come back to it more damaged than it already it. I know I can't … I can't go back now and honestly say my head is going to be where it needs to be when I know what's going on with Ethan here. And I know I can't leave him here the way he is. But me flaking—"

"You aren't flaking," Jay said.

"Me walking away from this in the middle of it. One, I don't even know if I can. Not without fucking up this whole case. And that's just going to … fuck up more things for a lot of people. If something happens or people get hurt, die … I don't know if I'll be able to …"

"And how are you going to be able to live with yourself if something happens to Ethan while you're still U.C. and it takes me another week or two or more for me to get a hold of anyone who's able to pull you out?" he put to her.

She sighed. She knew it was true. It was a harsh reality that she'd been playing over and over in her mind. And it wasn't something she could live with. Not without it fucking up the person she was. She already knew that with Nadia. She already knew what not being there to help Eth, to try to protect him, to be there to advocate for him and support him – at the school and in the hospital – to try to comfort him, what all that was doing to her now. And it ate at you. It tore you a part. Even when you learned to talk about it. Even when you started seeing counsellors and therapists and doing the things they told you to do. When you tried to heal and move on. Those are the kinds of things – not being there for the ones you loved, the ones you cared about – that stuck with you. And she knew it was why Hank was plastered to that chair in Eth's room right now. Why when she'd been hit with administrative leave she'd ran. But he hadn't had that option to play his game – to run it on the streets and with his contacts and play the politics and the bribes and the favors to manoeuvre into the position he wanted or needed, to twist the arms and bring the fingers to get what he wanted. So he was sitting in that chair – staring at his son – and willing him to get better. And she should be there – her energy should be there – too. And it wasn't. It hadn't been. Not for Hank. Not for Ethan. And not for Jay. And that's not something you easily forgave yourself for. It was not something that was easy to live with.

"Two," she said mutely, "leaving is going to have a big impact on any sort of career I'm going to have in the future. What am I going to do when I come back? Not just now. Ever."

"Secret Service," Jay suggested. She couldn't tell if he was joking. He didn't sound like he was.

"When I've fucked over the Feds twice? In a matter of weeks?"

"Private security," he said.

She sighed and gazed at the counter. "Yea, exactly," she said. "Of the mall cop variety."

"I don't think so," Jay contended. "And, Erin, you didn't let your hearing fully play out. If you come back, it might not be instantly, but CPD might still be in your future. If that's still what you want."

She shook her head. "Right now, I don't even know."

Jay's hand landed on top of hers – stilling it. She hadn't realized how much she'd been fidgeting. But she felt the weight of his calm hers – for a moment. And she looked up at him.

"Hank's going to need a lot of help with Eth when he gets out of the hospital. Eth's just generally going to need a lot of help finding his footing again. Having a some time to just … focus on that might not be a bad thing," he said.

"How very modern domestic of me …," she said. "Quit not one job, but two, so I can be a nurse maid to my baby brother and pass it off like it's some sort of higher purpose."

He kept her eyes. "You're a good sister," he nodded firmly. "A good daughter. A good aunt."

"But not a very good fiancée," she completed.

He made a little noise and straightened.

"What happens to us?" she asked. "If I come back … now? Not three months from now."

"I don't know, Erin," he put honestly. She sighed and fidgeted her hand out from under his. "It's going to take time."

"I know that," she said. "And I'm willing to put in that work. I want to put in that work. I want to fix thing. But, Jay, I really need to hear from you that you want to do that too. That you want this too. And you get … you get that where our relationship was, the walls and all the things off limits, that was part of the problem. It was part of the mess that … had me spinning. That I need you to work on that too. That it can't just be me."

He stared. And stared. Stiff and straight. Unmoving. Finally the statue that he'd been trying to look like earlier.

"I know," he finally said. "But I don't want to be the reason you come back. I don't want to become the person you resent when … if, things don't work out the way you want."

She looked at him. "You aren't the reason I'm coming back, Jay," she said. She gestured at the townhouse surrounding them. "This is the reason I'm coming back. I want my life. To live my life. I miss my life. I miss knowing who I am."

And she'd rather know that she might never have a complete picture of herself. That the picture that was there was slightly blurred. That maybe it's glass was slightly broke. But the framework was there. She knew who she was in Chicago – even if that was Voight's girl. And Bunny's daughter. And Ethan's big sister. And Henry's aunt. And Jay's fiancée. And her. She was her. And the story – the believability, the pain and the laughter and the good and the bad … and the ugly – it was in the details. The ones lived and the ones she had yet to live. And living that life – that truth – was easier (as fucking hard as it was) than the lie she was currently living.

So she wasn't coming back for Jay. For Ethan. Or Hank. Or CPD. Or Chicago. She was coming back for her. She wanted to come back for her. And it wasn't often that she did much for herself anymore. Ever. But this – she would. She was going to figure out a way to make it happen.

 **AUTHOR NOTE: Your reviews, comments and feedback are appreciated.**


	19. Chapter 19

**Title: The Way From Here**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Erin must deal with the consequences of her decision to take a position in FBI counter-intelligence at the expense of her relationship with Jay and her relationship with her family. But an emergency with her younger brother provides her with the opportunity to re-examine her choices and to try to rectify any damages to her relationships. This story takes place in the AU established in Interesting Dynamics.**

 **SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers in this collection from Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas, Scenes, Aftermath and So It Goes (including chapters/scenes in So It Goes that have not yet been written or posted). This series also contains SPOILERS related to the finale of Season 4 of Chicago PD.**

Ethan rolled his head. He strained his eyes. He tried to see Dad. He knew he was sitting right there. He could sorta see him. Maybe sorta a bit better than the day before. Sorta. But it was a weird angle. He looked all upside down.

But everything kinda looked upside down right now. The Upside Down. But that was kinda right too. That's kinda what all this felt like. Like he was in some sort of dark place. And it was all just a fog. And he couldn't see what was comin' after him. But he also didn't really need to see. Not really. He knew. Multiple sclerosis. All these fuckin' white marks on his brain and in his spine. And all these adults talkin' like he didn't get that. Like he didn't get that it was basically some sort of alien being or monster in there trying to take over him. Slowly. Until it killed him. Some day. That it was like a parasite. Like a mutation. That he was a mutation. Like some sorta experiment gone wrong.

Like Stranger Things. Only he wasn't Eleven. He was more like the Monster. Was it called the Monster? He couldn't remember. He couldn't remember that. And he tried. He tried to focus. He tried to find that. To remember it. But it wasn't there. Was it?

But maybe Eleven was the Monster too. But a nice monster? Maybe it was before she was a monster? But she'd be a monster? Eventually?

Maybe that was something good about bein' sick. Or in the hospital. Or Erin leavin'. Because Dad had let him watch that. Stranger Things. Finally. After everyone had already watched it. And he already knew all about it. Or maybe Dad just let him watch it 'cuz he was fourteen now. 'Cuz they were allowed to talk about rules and privileges and responsibilities again 'cuz he was fourteen now.

But it wasn't so different. Like not yet. Not ever?

'Cuz fourteen and everyone still treated him like a kid. Like he didn't get anything. Like he didn't know what was goin' on. Like he didn't fuckin' know how to use the internet. Like he'd never fuckin' Googled M.S. all on his own. Like he somehow didn't like get basically anything any of the doctors said. Ever. Or he didn't get anything about why he was at RIC. Or any of the shit that the therapist and physical therapist and cognitive therapist and all of them talked to him about there. Like he was that stupid. Or dense fuckin' dense. Like they just wanted him to live in some kinda fuckin' denial. Or be that fuckin' retarded. But he wasn't. He was brain damaged. He wasn't fuckin' stupid. Not like they thought. Not like the way they wanted him to be.

But he just felt so foggy. Now. 'Specially now. Not like usual. This was so different. It was like they just had him under this blanket. Like a weighted blanket. But not. Not like the one Dad bought him. That felt kinda nice sometimes. Comfortin'. But this didn't feel like that. Like at all. It felt like it was like a completely suffocating blanket. One his head. Over his face. Held to his mouth. Basically wrapped around his whole head. His brain. So that he could like hardly breath through. So that he couldn't like think through it.

And like as soon as it started to lift that they layered on another weighted blanket. A heavier one. To hold him down. To make him sleep through all of this. To make it harder to understand. To process. To make any sense.

It didn't make any sense. Did it?

He didn't think so.

He wasn't sure.

It was so hard to think. To remember. To understand. But he understood. He got it. He thought. He knew. He thought.

He thought Dad was sleeping. Ethan was pretty sure his eyes were closed. He thought. Maybe.

But he knew Dad wasn't sleeping too. Because Dad's fingers kept rubbing at his ear. Just over and over again.

It felt so good. It felt comfortin'. Like the weighted blanket was supposed feel like. But like it didn't feel like. Not now.

But now it felt like he could almost remember the first time Dad did that. Rubbed his ear. His ear. If he really tried. It was there. He could remember. If he really let that nice blanket – the good one, like home - settle over him. Warm and comfy and not able to think straight about anything accept through that cloud. That he was floatin' in. On?

And he thought he could remember.

But maybe he just could see Dad doing it to Henry. Over and over again. When Henry cried. He cried a lot. Too much. Who cries that much?

He did it when he was tired and cranky and wanted to sleep and wouldn't. Or couldn't.

Or maybe that was him? Maybe that's when Dad did it to him too? Over and over.

Only Ethan wanted more. Over and over. He wanted more.

He wanted home. When he was tired and sick and weak and flaring and drugged out of his mind and that Dad let him lay in his bed. When he knew that Dad closed his eyes but didn't sleep then either. Not really. But that he knew that Dad would make sure he woke up in the morning. 'Cuz Dad said that was the only thing he did know for sure. That the sun would come up in the morning. And it did. It always did. So far. Unless this was a dream?

Maybe he'd like if this was basically a dream. Only not a dream. A nightmare? But maybe that meant that he'd wake up soon. That it'd be over. It'd be different. When would it be?

He wanted when Dad let him lay there in Mom's spot. When Dad tucked blankets around him. When Dad would hold him so tight. Too tight. If it didn't hurt too much. If Ethan let him.

He wanted when Dad just stayed there all night. At home. Not here. This wasn't home. He wasn't suppose to be here. It wasn't home. He wasn't supposed to be here. They couldn't keep him here. It wasn't where he was suppose to be.

He wanted weeknights. After school. And practice. And homework. And he was just so tired. And so sore. But that Dad would let him stop a half-hour before Lights Out. Always. That Dad would be home. Nearly always. As much as he could. 'Cuz he had an important job. 'Cuz he didn't have an office job. 'Cuz he wasn't nine-to-five. 'Cuz someone had to do it. 'Cuz they all had to make sacrifices. But being a dad was his job too. He said that too. That it was an important one. Even if sometimes it didn't feel like it was entirely like as important as Dad's work. Like sometimes you felt second. But then there were times like now. And times like weeknights. When Dad came home.

And that was what he wanted. He wanted when Dad would stop what he was doing too. On weeknights. When he was home. That Dad would let him sit with him on the couch. Like that he didn't have to use the chair. Or the floor. Then. That he was allowed even in Dad's spot. Sometimes. So he could see the TV. With Dad. And that he was allowed to sit next to him. Against him. 'Cuz that wasn't really hugging. And wasn't really needy. Or sucky. Or weak. It was just watchin' TV.

And he wanted that. When they could just not talk. They could just watch TV. For thirty minutes. Thirty minutes 'til Lights Out. And he could feel how warm and strong Dad always was. That Dad still had a heart. And he still breathed. And he was alive. And he was there. And he cared. No matter what it felt like sometimes.

Ethan wanted Lights Out. But not the dark.

He wanted how Dad would pull the desk chair over. And sit there. And like make him read the first two pages of the chapter until he got annoyed with him … but not really. But it'd make Dad tell him to move over. And he'd prop himself next to him. In like bed. And that he'd help him get through the two pages and then Dad'd read the rest of the chapter for him. To him.

And he wanted how it always sounded better when Dad read it. Even though Dad didn't do voices. And Ethan knew – he thought he could remember, if he like really tried and like really imagined it – that Mom at least tried to do voices. Sometimes. He thought. But Erin said Dad always did Lights Out. Always. When he was home at Lights Out any ways. So maybe Dad did it better. Maybe he couldn't really remember. Not really. Or he remembered wrong. Or maybe he just remembered day. Or he imagined it. He imagined Mom a lot. He tried to remember. To see her. To feel her. Sometimes she was there. Or it kinda felt like it. Sorta.

Sot maybe all it was that he really wanted was just the way that Dad always put his thumb on his forehead. Always said "Lights Out" when he was done. Even though that was obvious. 'Cuz that was like always. Like every night. They were done. It was Lights Out.

He wanted Lights Out.

He wanted the way Dad always made Bear get off the bed. Even though Bear just got back up on it as soon as Dad left the room. And Bear stayed with him. And he was warm and alive and real too. And he smelled. Like dog. He thought – knew – he could remember the way Bear smelled. He knew that.

He wanted Bear.

Ethan wanted to be home with his dog. And his couch. And his bed. And his stuff. And his own bathroom.

He wanted to be able to tell Dad privately that he'd basically messed up the bathroom. Or like had an accident Or needed to change the sheets. He didn't want all the nurses and doctors and physical therapist to know.

He didn't want Eva to know. Or smell it. Not when she came to visit. 'Specially not if she brought Avery or her grandma because she did. 'Cuz he wanted Eva to keep visitin'. A lot. He didn't want her to stop. He didn't want her to be weird. He didn't want it to get weird.

He wanted to be able to tell Dad he needed help. To like get in and out of the shower. Or the tub. And that the bars and the stool to help and to sit could be hidden behind the curtain. Hidden. So not everyone – not anyone – had to know. 'Cuz not one came over anyway.

He wanted that him and Dad could just go back to their agreement. That like sometimes they were just goin' to have to deal with awkward and embarrassin' stuff. A lot. And it sucked giant balls. And he hated it. So fuckin' much. Like a lot. More than he fuckin' knew how to even explain. Now. Like this. But it didn't even matter. 'Cuz Dad would tell him again that he already had a lot of experience wipin' his naked ass. That he wasn't too worried about having to hand him a towel on his bad days. That it was allowed. It was allowed …

And he wanted that that was all they had to say about it. Even though it sucked and was embarrassin'. And hated it. So fuckin' much. But at least it was in private.

Ethan wanted to go fishing and kayaking and rock climbing and camping and to play ball. With his team. With his friends. To see 'em. Without it being weird. Without bein' the freak. Or the 'tard. Or the crippled fuckin' weirdo pity case.

He wanted to be at the RIC. And to be getting ready for summer camp. And tournament season. At Field of Dreams. Or was that a dream to? Now? Before? He didn't think so.

He wanted to be taking Bear for walks. To Erin's and Jay's. And to the park. To play ball in the park. And to throw the ball for Bear. And the Frisbee. And going for bike rides. On his bike. Fast. 'Cuz it felt good. To go fast. Again.

He wanted to watch the Cubs. 'Cuz they'd do good this season again, right? They were. Right? He'd go to a game. Right? He'd see them play again. Right? For real? Not in his dreams? Not just hear it on the live stream? It never sounded right. It didn't sound like the way baseball looked.

He wanted to go fossil hunting. And to get ready for Bridge and get in all his volunteer hours and training at Field.

He wanted to keep learning how to grill. 'Cuz Dad was finally teaching him. And trusting him with the barbecue.

He wanted to finish the shade platform they were building in the backyard. For Henry. For the sandbox. But it was basically a fort. He could pretend it was a fort. He could dream it was a fort. Even though Dad said their neighborhood wasn't safe 'nuff for a sleep out. But it could be a fort. For him. And Eva. For him. And Henry. It wasn't just shade. But maybe they'd get a slide. If they could find one at the curb or a garage sale or real cheap. That's what Dad said. For Henry. And that maybe they could do the ladder as grappling grips. Like rock climbing. And it'd be like a playground. But not. 'Cuz it was just a shade platform for the sandbox. For Henry. But it was a fort. That was better.

He wanted to keep working on the motorcycle. 'Cuz Dad was teaching him 'bout tools and engines. And how to build 'em. And fix 'em. And take 'em apart. And put 'em back together. And even though he was slow. A slow worker. That's what his teachers said. If they were tryin' to be nice. But they weren't real nice. But it was harder. 'Cuz he couldn't see. Sometimes. Maybe always. Now. And his hands shook. A lot. But Dad didn't get frustrated with him about it. Not that. Not like his teachers. Not like everyone. That Dad could be patient. That Dad could show him. That Dad could teach him.

Ethan wanted his toys and his baseball cards and his sandbox – not Henry's - and his dinosaurs. All of them. He wanted to play with Henry. And his friends.

He wanted to get to eat in the backyard and play down the street and to buy watermelon and Italian Ice in the neighborhood like every day all summer even though Dad said that basically was a stupid way to be spending his allowance. But he was real good at saving. So he was kinda allowed. He thought. 'Cuz summer was watermelon. And barbecue. And baseball. And baseball cards. And fishing. And camping. And the lake. It was supposed to be. He thought.

That was the summer he wanted. Not this.

He wanted his allowance jars. And stupid chores. And responsibilities he had to do to get any cash in them each week. But how Dad looked proud of him when he did them without being asked. How it meant Dad let him have more and more time at home alone now. Doing shit he wanted to do. 'Cuz Dad trusted him now. Sorta. Maybe. And how Dad always was real happy when he started dinner or had taken Bear for his walk and had swept up and was doin' his homework when he came in the door.

He wanted to have one of Dad's new stupid rules. That they had to talk to each other before they left the house. Always. Even if Daddy had to leave super early or super late. That Dad made him hug him. That Dad told him he loved him. Now. Every day.

And hearing that at home was way better than hearing it in the hospital. Getting a hug at home was way better than in the hospital too. 'Cuz Dad didn't feel sad and broken and angry at home. Not really. Not like this. Not like now.

He felt like Dad at home. Strong and warm and human even if he was kinda grouchy a lot. But Ethan still wanted that Dad more than him now. He wanted that home and life more than this. Now.

"Dad …," he pressed out. It scratched. It hurt. It felt like a whisper. His mouth was dry. He was thirsty.

Dad just made a little sound. Maybe he really was asleep. But his thumb still kept moving on his ear.

"Dad …," Ethan tried again. He tried harder to turn his head a bit more.

But Dad just made another sound that sounded more like he was awake. But he still didn't open his eyes. He did move his thumb, though. He moved it to his cheek and stroked it there. Up and down. And Ethan leaned into it. It felt good. He gazed at him. It felt really good.

But he really wanted more than that.

"Daddy …" he tried.

Dad made another noise and let his eyes open that time and rotated his head to look at him. He sorta gave him a smile. As much as Dad kinda smiled. Only Dad did smile. Just not here. Not now. His thumb just kept moving. Up and down.

"Rest, Magoo …" he rasped at him.

"Dad … I want to go home," Ethan pressed out.

The thumb. It stayed there. Dad kept lookin'at him. "Know that, Kiddo," he said. "We'll get you outta here as soon as the doctors say so."

"When?" Ethan rasped on his own.

"Bit more, Magoo," Dad said. "Week or so. We'll see."

Ethan shook his head as much as he could manage. "No, Daddy. Now," he managed. It was hard.

Dad's thumb moved again. "Rest, E," he said again.

Ethan shook his head harder. "No, Dad," he summoned as much strength as he could. He tried to sound basically as normal as he could. But he didn't sound normal. Not even to him. He didn't sound like him. "I'm done. I wanna go home. Now."

"Ethan, too early today to start getting yourself worked up," Dad said. And that time his hand moved up to his head. To his hairline. To him thumb on his forehead. That just felt more like home. Like what he wanted. But this wasn't home. It wasn't what he wanted.

"Daddy, you aren't listenin'," Ethan sputtered. "I'm done. I wanna go home. I don't wanna do this anymore. It's not workin'."

"We aren't going to know that for a while," Dad said. "Need to give it some more time. Get through these treatments. See where we're at."

Ethan shook his head. That time removing Dad's thumb from his forehead. His hand from his head.

"I don't want to do it anymore," Ethan pressed more purposely. "I don't want to do anymore of the medical trial stuff. And I don't wanna do anymore of this. I don't want to be a lab rat or experiment anymore. I want to go home."

"Ethan—" Dad said all sternly-like.

"Daddy, no," he spat at him with all the strength he had left. His eyes watered with it. And Dad smacked at him. But he saw his eyes. He could see his eyes that time. He could see it. He could see Daddy heard him. He could see that Dad was feeling it.

"I know, Dad," he said. "I like get it. I know. I know I've got M.S. I know that maybe it's not gonna get better anymore. I can hear everyone. I know it might get worse from now on. I know."

Dad's hand was back on his forehead. His whole hand. It was like stroking. Like if he had hair. Only he didn't really have hair. Not anymore.

"E," and his voice sounded real sad-like now. Like after J died. Like after Erin left. Like when it was around Mom stuff. "I really need you to keep being strong about all this. We've got a few more days—"

"Not we," Ethan argued. "It's me, Dad. And I don't want to do it anymore. I told you. I get it. I get all of it. I know that it might make me more sicker. I know it's goin' to kill me."

And Dad's voice really cracked then. Hard. "You can't be talking and thinking like that, Ethan."

"It's true," Ethan said. "I know it. Eventually. It will."

"Not for a long time," Dad told him firmly. "You've still got a whole lot of life ahead of you, Kiddo. You've just got to—"

"DADDY! THIS ISN'T A LIFE!" Ethan barked at him. So much it rattled him. So much it hurt. Bad. He sunk into the mattress and tears streamed down his face. He reached to wipe at them but Dad was already doin' it for him. "Dad, I just wanna go home."

"I hear you," Dad said.

"I want to be with Bear and in my bed and my stuff and I want Mom's spot," he sputtered.

"I know," Dad said. Again. And just kept wiping each tear as it trickled and then stroking at his forehead every few seconds when it wasn't.

"It's not fair," Ethan sniffed hard. He didn't want to cry. It hurt. It was stupid.

"I know," Dad said. Again.

"You don't," Ethan said. He trembled. "Mom and J just got to die. They just got to die. And I have to go like this. All this fuckin' shit. Before I get to die."

Dad made like a sound at that. It didn't sound right. It sounded broken. And Ethan had to stop his blurry eyed stare at the ceiling. He had to stop clenching his fist and pounding the mattress. He had to look at him. He had to try to see him. But he could see. He thought he could. Better than before. Maybe. And even if it was blurry – still, bad –he could hear. He could hear that he made Dad cry.

"You can't be thinking like that, Ethan," he said. But it sounded all wrong. It sounded like he was cryin'. Like really cryin'. Not like when Dad sorta cried but hid it. When he made it stay in. Or go back in. Or stop right away.

"It's true," Ethan said. "It's all I can remember. My whole life. All of it. It's all I can remember. Doctors and hospitals and tests and being an experiment. That's all. All but the two years you made me go away. TO fuckin' boarding school. And that sucked even worse. And it's not normal. IT'S NOT A FUCKING NORMAL LIFE, DAD! IT'S NOT! AND I FUCKING WANT TO GO HOME! NOW!"

Dad looked like he'd tried to stop cryin'. He sounded like he'd tried to stop. And maybe he kinda had. But he hadn't.

"Ethan," he tried. He tried to sound normal. And even. But he didn't. 'Cuz none of this fuckin' shit was normal. "I really need you to give this – to give me – a few more days. Okay? Let's just get through the plasma exchange and we can talk about—"

"Daddy, you can't fix this," Ethan interrupted him. Whispered at him.

But he knew Dad heard. 'Cuz he stopped. 'Cuz he could see Daddy's chin. He could see it shakin'. Sorta. Tremblin'. He could tell he was trying to be strong. For him. But Ethan was tryin' to be strong for him too. And Dad said to tell the truth. To tell him the truth. The good. The bad. And the ugly.

And Dad couldn't fix this. He couldn't. No matter how much Ethan wanted him to be able to. It just wasn't realistic. And Daddy didn't like fairy tales much either.

"You can't," Ethan whispered again. And his own tears started again. And he stared at the ceiling again.

But Dad didn't let him. He sat up. Sat closer. He rotated his head and put his forehead against his. And Ethan could feel that he was shakin' too. That he was cryin' too. And he thought he heard Daddy say almost too quietly to even be heard, "I'm sorry, Magoo." 'Cuz it was true. He couldn't fix it. But it wasn't his fault. Ethan was knew that too. That he did know. For sure. It wasn't his fault.

"Dad …," Ethan managed to get out. Eventually. After what felt like forever. 'Cuz it all sorta felt like it was in slow motion now. A black hole. A time continuum. That he didn't understand. "I know sometimes when you get sad and scared you go … do stuff. Off the handle. But I don't want you to go."

"I'm right here, Magoo," he said super quietly. He gravelled. Hard. "Not going anywhere."

"I mean later," Ethan pressed weakly. "I mean … I want that to be different from Mom and J too. For real. I don't want you to go. I want you to stay with me."

Dad made another sound. Harder. Stronger. A sob? And he shook. He really shook.

"Ethan, that time is a long time off," he gravelled so hard that Ethan could barely understand him. "A long, long time."

"I know …," Ethan said softly. He tried to believe it. And maybe he kinda did. But maybe that kinda sucked in its own shitty ass way. 'Cuz he didn't want to keep livin' like this. To keep goin' like this. "I just mean when."

Dad lifted his head up off his forehead. He looked him in his eyes. He could tell. He could feel it. And he said: "I'll be there when, Ethan. You don't nee to worry about that."

And that was something Ethan thought he could believe. He hoped so. Even though it made him cry. Again. And he didn't really want to.

But he did want Dad's hug. He got Dad's hug. He felt his forehead. And he wrapped his arms around his head too. As tight as he could. And he knew – he really knew – Daddy cried … he was crying … too.

 **AUTHOR NOTE: Your reviews, feedback and comments are much appreciated.**


	20. Chapter 20

**Title: The Way From Here**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Erin must deal with the consequences of her decision to take a position in FBI counter-intelligence at the expense of her relationship with Jay and her relationship with her family. But an emergency with her younger brother provides her with the opportunity to re-examine her choices and to try to rectify any damages to her relationships. This story takes place in the AU established in Interesting Dynamics.**

 **SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers in this collection from Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas, Scenes, Aftermath and So It Goes (including chapters/scenes in So It Goes that have not yet been written or posted). This series also contains SPOILERS related to the finale of Season 4 of Chicago PD.**

Voight could feel Halstead looking at him. Staring at him. Sort of wished the kid would just give him some space. Stop it with the nanny act. Didn't exactly need a babysitter. Only so much trouble he could get himself into – holes he could dig – when he was sitting in a hospital. And Halstead had his own shit he should be monitoring – taking care of – didn't need to be sitting there staring at him. Should be dealing with work. The job. His daughter. That relationship. Taking advantage of the time Erin had home – there – now. Because it sure didn't sound like it was going to work out to be a one-way trip that she'd made.

Figured. Knew she wasn't in the kind of job – not on the kind of assignment, the kind of case – that she'd just be able to cut bait and switch. Come home. Not with the kind of person she was. The kind of cop she was. Just the fucking kind of citizen he'd raised. But just added to his whole mixed feelings about her even being there right then. If it was going to do any of them any good in the end or just leave them all with their heads spun around more than they already were.

Erin was off on the phone again. Or at a meeting with some handler. Or something. Didn't get a lot of details. Knew better than to ask a whole lot of questions. Just knew that after she'd talked to the doctors – after they'd all talked to the fucking doctor because E was in a real state that morning, really expressing himself as a person and the patient with wants and needs and ideas about his treatment and care – she'd gone off to talk on the phone. Or whatever. That he'd got told that she still needed to work out some more details – that nothing was set in stone yet – but that she was likely still going to need to be back on a plane in a few days. That even in a best case scenario, she'd be back U.C. for at least a few more weeks to try to transition a new body into wherever she was at while they worked on a good way to transition her out without raising too much suspicion. He'd been there. Knew that wasn't something that happened over night. Knew too that it might not be something that even happened in a few weeks. That she might end up being there for the few months she'd initially toted this assignment as. That she might end up being there until this group got brought down or the FBI got the intel it needed to bring down whatever else it was that this group was plugged into. And that could be a whole lot more than a few months.

And didn't know what to think or feel about any of that. There was how he felt as a father. There was how he felt as a cop. Then there were all these fucking grey areas in it. Looking at her as his adult daughter. Looking at it through the lens of being a single parent of a sick kid. Looking at job and income and schedule and balancing act. Looking at it as what he had left in the world. And everything that was gone. That'd left him. And after this morning, didn't much want to get going down that pity-party track.

So fucking strange for her to be gone. Even stranger for her to be back. A whole lot of mixed emotions.

This weighing of his role of her being gone in the first place. And why he'd did it. Why he'd made that choice. And if it was for the best. How it'd worked out. How it might still work out.

Just did know that it was lonely. All of it. Before this hospital crap. And during all this shit. Lonelier, quieter than it'd felt in a long time. Worse than those months after J where she wasn't talking to him. Least then he was seeing her. At work. Them playing some sort of fucked up child custody game with E. This was a different ball game.

Enlightening in a way. Though, made him reflect back too on exactly what kind of father he'd been to her. Maybe too much of a friend. With his kid. A kid. His girl. His daughter. For too long. Too much of a friend. Not enough for a dad. And her being here right now was just salt in all those wounds. Adding more shit to process than he already had to with what was going with his little boy who wasn't so little anymore. His baby boy who was having talk and think about and express things that you don't want any kid to have to be talking or thinking on. Let alone your own.

And, sure, yeah, he'd had E around. He'd been getting to see H. Olive had been checking in on him. Halstead was doing the whole nanny state thing while that kid was clearly unhinging in his own way. Likely needed his own nanny. Especially now. And wasn't sure who'd be doing that for him. Maybe Al. But Al only coddled the kids in the bullpen so much. Especially anymore. Saw Upton liking to take on the nanny duties some. With everyone. Mildly annoying. She could take it back several notches. And, thought Jay likely felt about the same way. Not sure she was the right person to be giving him that shoulder.

And Voight knew too that he sure as fuck didn't know where his fucking shoulder was right now. Didn't like admitting he needed one. But felt like it. Right now it sure fucking did. Didn't know who he was supposed to talk to about what Eth had put to him that morning. Didn't much want to talk about it. But could already feel it eating at him. Al. Thought maybe he should just go and buy him and O some drinks. Sit at the bar for a while. But O didn't need this burden on top of his own processing he had going on.

The family shrink. His own appointment with the family shrink. Or go back to the one from after Cami. Or the one he'd sent J and Erin to back then. Or the one he'd recommended Erin go and get some counselling from after all the Bunny bullshit at Christmas. But not sure how good that woman's expertise had been considering where they were now. That Bunny was still in the picture come the spring. That Erin was still ready to fall on her own sword for her. Still ready to deem her as family and the rest of them as … . Erin had made her choice. Taken her path. Needed some time away. Some space. She'd needed to go. Back then. Six weeks ago.

Maybe Voight needed her to back that decision too. Needed her to see what the outcome was. Let her feel it and experience it. Give her some time to process what she'd had and what she'd given up. But right now, just was feeling the hole in his life in a whole lot of ways with his girl being gone. At work. At home. In the family. In his life as a man and a father. IN his heart and mind and soul. And a whole lot of fucking sap that he hated delving into. But the one thing that J passing that proven was that he had a whole lot of emotional shit sitting there in his past that he hadn't much worked on. And right now it was really staring him in his face that he was going to have a whole lot more before his life was said and done.

Not the fucking life he'd imagined. For himself. For his wife. For his children. What kind of fucking sadist would imagine it working out this way?

But sure wasn't going to say any of that to Halstead. They weren't on that level. Wasn't sure either of them ever would be. Kid had enough of his own fucked up emotional past he needed to figure out too. Maybe sooner rather than later. Could see it bubbling up in the kid more and more. In his eyes. And maybe that wasn't a bad thing. Maybe he really fucking hoped the kid would just fucking figure out a way to deal with it. Find a way to cope. To heal. TO move on. And survive. To just fucking talk about it. Because there now was a whole lot of reasons Voight wished he'd dealt with some of his own shit in his 20s. In his 30s. Not as a man in his fucking mid-50s. A fucking widower. One kid dead. Another kid likely going to be gone before him. And his daughter … it was complicated. And maybe if he'd dealt with some of his shit – his mother, his father, his loss, his trauma, the miscarriages, the challenges of marriage and the job and the kind of shit you did on the job and the shots you took and the lives you cut short for good or bad – back when he was in his 20s, in his 30s – maybe some of all the other bullshit that had piled up around him would've worked out differently. Maybe he would've been a different man. A different kind of family man. A different kind of father.

And maybe right now he wouldn't feel so fucking lonely. Just fucking alone. In all of this.

"You alright there, Sarge?" Halstead asked.

Voight lifted his head off the table – where he'd been trying to just rest his eyes, shut down his mind for a bit. Try to get that 'sleep like a baby' feeling that had been eluding him for at least seven years. A hell of a lot longer than that if he was going to be honest with himself. Just trying to get his head on straight for the next sprint he had ahead of him. Trying to put in the time – in some quiet – while they had Magoo wheeled up to surgery to pull out the lines they'd put in less than 36-hours ago to put in a fucking semi-permenant port instead. So he could listen to his boy. Do what he wanted. Give him some sort of voice and control in all of this. Take him home. Finish off the plasma exchange as an out-patient and they'd just see after that about this immuniglobin shit that Erin had to go Dr. Googling and Halstead had to have his options on and his brother had to have his opinions on and even Olive had gone into her growning M.S. brain trust to pull out gobbledygook about if and how and who he should be listening to and going forward with letting them add that layer to his son's treatment. What outcome it'd have in the end. What was more invasive than needed. What positive affect any of it was really going to have. Or what was just going to make his boy's quality of life shittier than it already was.

And he'd really just wanted that ninety minutes or so alone. Some fucking downtime. To try to get his own head around the next steps and what the next few days were going to look like. What the next month and three months and six months and year would look like. What his little boy's life would look like. For a kid who was supposed to be starting high school in the fall. A cop's kid. And right now he wasn't even sure where he fit into that. How he'd be providing any sort of livelihood to give his son the care he needed. On too many fucking levels. That he'd be – if he got back – walking into a whole new mindfield. A whole new game. New rules. New players. And it wasn't going to be the job the way it was. He was going to have to become a new kind of animal. And what kind of animal would that be – to survive – when he didn't have much left but a sick kid who needed him coming each night. Who might need him home a whole lot more than that depending on the day. Or night. How the fuck would he balance that? Now.

But instead of getting that little window of just fucking quiet. Magoo upstairs. Erin doing what she was doing. Halstead had decided he'd come with him to the cafeteria. Like he needed some kind of coffee partner. Or needed some kid – when he already had his own kid there – brow beating him about going home to take a shower and change his clothes and shut his eyes for a couple hours. But didn't have enough time for that. What he did have enough time for was quiet. If Halstead would just let him. But the guy didn't seem to want to give him that.

Didn't know how Halstead wanted him to answer that question either. You okay? What the fuck was that kind of question anyway. Not one worth giving much more than a grunt. Acknowledgement he'd heard the question.

Because the answer? There wasn't a fucking answer.

How the fuck are you supposed to be feeling in all of this? Wasn't sure there was an answer to that either. But was pretty fucking clear on it not being "okay".

His mind kept going back to the same trains of thought. This idea – this notion he'd had – that at some point even though the job is important, maybe it's even what you live for or what keeps you save – but that you're doing the job, that one that's become your life, to make a life for your wife. For your kids. For your family. That you are giving your life for them. Day in, day out. To put a roof over their head and food on the table and clothes on their backs. To support them. So they can have a life. Live a life.

And what happens when all that's gone? When your wife and kids aren't part of the picture anymore? When they've been taken away from you bit by bit? And what you've got left is that the job that became your life so they could have one – ones they don't have anymore? Is the job still your source of sanity? Or is it just another factor that got you into the whole fucking insane situation to begin with?

That just got back to this idea of loneliness. Life surrounded by strangers.

And started him thinking on how your family just starts out as strangers in the first place. Camille. These babies they put into your arms to take home.

Funny that way. And funnier because Erin sure hadn't felt like a stranger when he'd brought her home. Not to him. But sure had been a word Cami had used a lot in those tense weeks … and months. "Stranger". "You brought a stranger into my home." Funnier still because he remembered when E had woken up from his coma – from his brain damage – and that wasn't the little baby they'd put into his arms to take home, the one he'd spent all those years getting to know. Had a whole new stranger on his hands. And he'd again had to spend years getting to know that kid. Not just getting to know him. To fall in love with him again. You love your kids. But there's different kinds of it. Different ways of it. He'd learned that too. And it'd taken time to get to know the Magoo he had now and to fall in love with the kid now. Just like Cami had needed time to get to know Erin and to fall in love with her too. As their child and as a person. To make her a part of their lives – not a stranger in their home.

And now it felt like he was operating with strangers again. These new and different entities that he was having to relearn how to operate around. And how to listen to.

And that was fucking hard as a father. Because you do for your kids. You make choices. And decisions. And sacrifices. You direct and redirect. And for better or worse you have to hope – to fucking trust – that you're trying to right by them the best you know how. But sometimes that's just not good enough.

And it sure hadn't been lately.

So no. He wasn't okay.

No. He wasn't going to tell Halstead all that. Wasn't going to try to explain it to him. Wasn't going to lecture him. Or try to be some kind of mentor. Or advisor. Or try to sway him one way or another. To tell him he'd understand more when he was a husband or father. To tell him to take care of some of his own shit while he was still young – not as a middle aged man.

Instead he scrubbed at his face and looked at the lukewarm shitty coffee they served in the cafeteria. Shouldn't even be called coffee. Maybe he would've been smarter to have left Halstead in his dust – gone for a walk, get some real brew rather than the swill. But didn't like leaving Med when E was in surgery. Or alone. But could've left Halstead to stand guard. The guy liked having a purpose. An assignment.

So he'd give him one. Now.

"How's your pops doing?" he put to him.

That shut the kid up for a long beat. Gave him one of those looks that Jay sure seemed to think intimidated some people. Maybe they did. Would likely do better these days though if the guys eyes didn't always look so tired, glassy and bloodshot like he'd been up for days, drinking, crying or triggering with his PTSD all over the place – or some combination of all of the above.

Voight just kept the eyes, though. Because they sure didn't intimidate him. But not much did. Or not much had. He was learning that it wasn't people that scared him. Wasn't even his own death that scared him. But his kids having to face that – him having to face that, and face living without all of them, without Justin now – that scared him. It intimidated him that the possibilities of the bigger and greater losses still hung in the future. That that was something he was going to have to put on a brave face for – to deal with – for his child. And then all on his own when it was said and done.

Halstead finally shrugged. "Don't know."

"Still not talking much?" he asked.

"Call every couple weeks to see if his heart's still beating. Sometimes he answers the phone. Sometimes I leave a message. Once he called back."

Voight grunted and took a sip at his coffee. Could be another lecture there. One about fathers and sons and father and daughters. And just raising children in general. He couldn't figure out which one was harder. Sons or daughters. Did know they both gave you a run for your money. And both sure as fuck broke your heart. In ways you're never prepared for when it's this little bundle you're handed to take home with you. A stranger. One that's yours.

Guilt. Pride. Ego. They played such a fickle role in navigating life. Your kids. Being a parent. Being a man. Add in stubborn and it was a fucking diasterous mix. Knew that too. Too much. But also knew that in the end – for the one left standing – there's regrets. And that's not something you want to live with. Can't fix much after someone's gone. And sometimes it's fucking hard to find the meaning to keep pushing through. As it all gets stripped away bit by bit. Too much time to think about that lately. Erin gone. Magoo in a hospital bed and not all there. And Voight already knew that in the end – when the end came – the job wasn't going to be enough. There was a reason cops ate guns. Even bigger reason they shoved them down there after they were retired. Because that was an even more intimidating black hole to stare at when contemplating what the future may bring.

But knew Halstead didn't want to hear any of that either. Bringing it up was enough. A backward expression of his opinion on the matter that he didn't know too much about. But knew enough – knew Halstead enough – to know that in the end, he didn't need that guilt and regret on top of all the other self-blame he layered into his life. The loneliness the kid just seemed to radiate with his tough guy image that just seemed like too much of a sham. Said one tough guy to another.

Part of him didn't want to put it all on Halstead either. Couldn't put it all on the kid. Reality was – that kid was a grown man – but he was still the kid in the relationship with his father. Knew from experience that there's a whole lot of give and take and a big learning curve when it came to your kid still being your kid when they were now adults. But in some ways, it didn't change. The way you felt about them. The things you'd do for them. The sacrifices you're willing to make. The dynamic might shift some – or a lot – but they are still your kids.

Voight would acknowledge too that it's hard. It's a fucking strange dynamic between fathers and sons. It's difficult. He knew it in his own way when he was a kid. Lost his dad before he went through the full gauntlet of what that does to you. But he'd learned quick with Justin. He was already having to relive some of it with E. It's a hard road. A whole other arena of pride and ego. Chips on your shoulder. Trying to be better or more. Trying to live up to something. This alikeness and not wanting to be the same. Causes a whole lot of butting heads.

But Voight knew what it did to you. He knew what losing your dad was like. Knew what losing a wife was like. Knew what losing a kid – a son – was like. And he knew for as much of a pain in the ass both his boys were – he wouldn't trade his relationship with them. That he'd still pick up the phone. Still make those calls. Listen to those messages. Take them out for dinner. Or sit through the same. And all sorts of shit in between. Because they were your boys. Your little boy.

And Voight knew too that no matter what Jay thought could still be shifts and changes in relationships even in hurt and trauma and betrayal. That you could still salvage something. Knew that the kid who was a mama's boy could become a daddy's boy. And vice versa. That you could still find some level of respect for each other. That you could still have a relationship. No matter what the other had done and how fucking angry and hurt that made you feel. How much it'd impacted on your life.

And you needed that. The kid deserved that. But the kid also deserved for his father to be the father in the situation. To be the grown-up even if his boy was all grown up. To set the example. And sometimes that meant just swallowing it down hole. Setting shit aside. Trying another way. No matter how much you didn't like it. Or how unlikely you were to do it for anyone else. Fact of the matter was that this wasn't anyone else – it was your kid. So you did for them.

And really wished Halstead's father would pull his head out of his ass - now with the heart scare – and work on making some sort of amends in his family. Mend some bridges. Try a bit harder. So when things turned into more than a scare, he didn't leave behind adult kids who were even more fucked up than before. Dealing with more guilt and regret than before. And letting that fester into a different kind of anger that just fucked up your life too.

"How you and Erin doing?" he asked instead. Because Jay's situation with his father wasn't really any of his business. Not that his status with his daughter was either. Had told the guy more than once that he didn't want the details. But that was before. This was now.

Though, apparently Halstead didn't see it quite the same way. "Don't think that's really any of your business," he put flatly at him.

Voight just hummed at that. True and not. "Just meant if she's wading through with her head on straight."

"No. Not really," Halstead said. "But I don't regret that I called. You should've."

Voight allowed another sound at that. Despite the accusation in his tone. Maybe the kid was right. But he also wasn't. Just like maybe he shouldn't have set up that gig for Erin. But he also should've.

He needed to. And Erin needed it too. Maybe she still did. Maybe it would bring her whatever clarity she needed having picked that fork in the road. Having some time to see what was down it. Getting some space to let herself feel homesick. Some time to think on Bunny. And family. And what she wanted out of her life. What she really wanted to do with her life. What was important. And what wasn't. When you got down to it. And the important people within that too.

"She been staying at your guys' place at night?" was all the reaction he gave to Halstead's little jab.

Kid shrugged. "Yeah."

Said it so nonchalantly. Like it wasn't a big deal. And it wasn't. Or at least it shouldn't be. But it was. Said some things. Told him at least that Halstead was working on it. That Erin was working on it. They were both still trying as best they could given the stew they'd found themselves in. And still trying usually went a lot toward getting things to eventually work out. At least moved them in the right direction. At least it meant that Erin wasn't running more – this time in place. Wasn't hiding at the house. Or in a bar. Or spinning at sixty miles an hour as she tried to get her head on straight. Alone. Had someone around to give her some pushed. Maybe push her right out of the rut.

And that was pretty much what Voight hoped Halstead would do. Role he'd play in all this. Was the role he needed. He was the fiancée. The future husband. And that meant dealing with some … mucky situations. Meant a lot more of swallowing some pride. Setting aside some of the ego. And being the man that this woman you loved had seen underneath and fallen in love with too.

"You know Camille, my wife, she applied to veterinary school. Down state. Few hour haul," he said.

Halstead shrugged at him again. "Okay …"

"Mmm," Voight grunted and looked at his coffee. Grim. Just disgusting. "Erin. She reminds me a lot of Cami. Too much some days. Independent. Stubborn. Runs her mouth too damn much to make sure she's always getting the last word in edgewise."

Made him smile a little. But decided to cover it up with another sip of the swill. "Think they were too much alike. Part of the reason they butted heads so much at the start. When she first came home."

Looked at Halstead. Guy clearly didn't see where this was going. Maybe he didn't care much to hear. And maybe if that was the case, he'd fucking get up and go and he could get his peace and quiet – time to think – for a bit. But maybe Voight just kind of wanted him to fucking listen for a minute too.

"We had this whole thing while she was in college. Just bullshit. I'm off doing the job thing. Academy, sign on in Cicero so I'm starting out on the street barely out of high school. And Cami going off and getting her education. I had a whole lot of ideas about that. Or thought I did. Back then. On again, off again. The whole fucking time. Don't even know if you can call it that."

"Okay …" Jay allowed again.

Voight just made another sound. Just twisted that coffee around.

"Even then, I fucking hated when she applied to that school down in Champaign. Just pissed off. Guess maybe I hadn't quite admitted it to myself yet but still sort of expected things to work out. That she was the one. Guess my gut was right about that. But selfish. Didn't want her to go and do that. Explore that opportunity. Have that experience. That degree and career. And when it didn't work out – she didn't get in – and I was happy about it. That was my first reaction. Just thought 'great, now she's not going anywhere.'"

"If this is supposed to be some sort of metaphor for me and Erin, I don't think it works," Halstead mumbled at him and drew his own coffee closer. "We aren't some high school sweethearts love story."

Voight made an amused sound at that and smacked a bit, gazed at the guy. "That what Erin told you?"

"Read between the lines," he said. "She actually doesn't talk about it all that much. Any of it."

Voight gave a little grunt and twisted his own cup again. "Not an epic love story, Jay," he managed after a bit and gave him a look then. Nodded at him. "Not sure you could call us high school sweethearts. Camille would actually likely get a little prickly about you picking that phrase."

Halstead snorted a bit at that. Took a real long drink of his brew.

"It was a marriage, Jay," he put to the kid after he seemed to have a lull in trying to look real distracted with his drinks. "Had a whole lot of ups and downs. Definitely wasn't perfect. And whole lot of times where it wasn't particularly pretty. But it was intimate. Think you're the kind of man who can understand that."

Halstead just started at him. Tried to look stoic again. Guy really wasn't pulling it off these days. At all. But Voight knew his own act was lacking lately too. Whole lot of cracks in the armor. Hadn't had the chance to go and work on lacquering them back up.

"I loved her. She loved me. Good, bad, and ugly. And when you cut to the chase, the fact of the matter is, I married my best friend. Think that's something you can appreciate too. Even with the good, bad and ugly - made a family with her. That was my choice. Her choice too."

Halstead just stared. Just crossed his arms. Those quiet little fidgets.

"Why are you telling me this?" he finally put to him.

Voight just hummed at that again. Took another long sip of his drink.

"Because I was an ass. About her education. About what she wanted and needed. About listening to how she saw herself. Even about caring the way I should. Maybe I thought I knew best. Maybe I was just being fucking selfish. Had my head up my ass. Really up my ass, considering all the shit she ended up putting up with , all the fucking absences that doing the job comes with … nights, U.C., gunning game, working Gangs. But had my head real far up my ass about it then."

"With all due respect, Sargent—" Halstead interrupted him but he just interrupted him right back.

"Hank," he put to him flatly – and bluntly. Halstead looked at him. "Unless one of you is planning on telling me otherwise, you're still engaged to my daughter. You've been kicking around my home for coming up on three summers now, Jay. You're sitting at the hospital when you're off rooster because my son is in the hospital. You have our fucking dog over at your house. I think we can move passed this Sargent and Voight shit when we aren't at work. Our heads don't need to be that far up our asses right now either."

The kid just looked at him again. Sat there. Like he really needed to think on that. Hard.

"Hank," he managed, "with all due respect. I'm happy for you that you had a good marriage. That you loved your wife. That you got your nice family—"

"Never said it was nice," Voight put back to him. And wasn't sure that was exactly the word he'd use to describe it. Ever. They weren't the Cleavers. But there was love in there. There was responsibilies and rights and priviledges. Scarifices. And just a safety net. People to take care of and to take care of you. That's family. When it works. Even when it's not fucking working.

"Fine," Jay said right back. "But, still really don't see why you're telling me any of this."

"Because my wife didn't into vet school. Because that collapsed her world – her plans, who she thought she was – more than a little bit. And when that happened – despite what a fucking pain in the ass I'd been to her for her four years doing her undergrad. Whatever I did to hurt her. My inability or refusal to talk to her. To figure out how to communicate with her. To be there for her the way I should've been in those years. It was still me she came to when the foundation she'd thought she'd been laying for herself just disappeared. And, Camille – strong, smart, independent woman. Didn't much like asking for help. Would give people the shirt of her back if they asked for hers – but her asking for any herself? Didn't much do that. And she didn't ask me for help that day Or weeks or months. But she wanted it. She needed it. She just wanted someone to help her figure it out. Help her pick up the pieces. Get redirected. Start down a different path. She wanted me – needed me – to fix it for her. Without me acknowledging that was what I was doing. Wasn't something I could all go fixing on my own anyway. Her life. Her choices. Her decisions to be made. But I could make my own choices and decisions – scarifices, change of plans, change of my own direction - to help her starting laying down a new path. Make it a bit easier for her to start walking down it. Maybe do a bit of hand holding to get her to follow along."

Jay looked at him. A long time. Just looked. There wasn't a look too it. Wasn't any kind of negative energy radiating off him. Just this quiet weight of the world hanging there that the guy loved to carry around with him.

"I tried to talk to Erin before she left," he said. "To talk her out of it."

Voight grunted. "Figured as much."

"She didn't want to talk then," he said. "Don't think she's ready to talk now."

Voight just smacked at him. "You ready to talk now?" he put to him.

Halstead just stared. Deer in headlights.

"Erin's not much of a talker," Voight provided. "Reading her is fine and good. Glad you're learning it. But my daughter doesn't initiate real conversations until things are already starting to go sideways or worse. That's just part of her M.O. And it's something you have to be attentive to. Maybe you aren't much of a talker either. Fine. I can respect that. I understand. But right now – you want a change of direction, start rebuilding the foundation, Jay. Take her hand. Talk. And you tell her what changes you've made – that you'll be making – to make this easier for her. Don't fix it for her. Don't tell her that you're even trying. Just … make the sacrifice, Jay. Now. Or decide you're not going to – that you're not ready. And accept that. What it means. Or else, all of us … we're just going to keep spinning around here."

Halstead just started at him. Voight gulped down the last bit of his stale coffee and rose from the table.

"Going to check on Magoo …," he provided. And left the kid – the man – sitting there.

Maybe it wasn't fair. But there was a whole lot of fixing this that rested on Halstead. Even if Erin still needed to live up her mistakes and take some responsibility for her actions – her decisions.

Just a long fucking road. And they were already down a long way from that fork she'd took. Be a while. A long way back. They'd get. Voight had accepted he was going to need to do a whole lot of hand holding on the way. But he was going to need some other people to pick up the slack – to just take the hand before any of them slipped and fall on their faces more than they already were. Got to hope the lot of them had enough sense to at least manage that.

 **AUTHOR NOTE: Your reviews, comment and feedback are appreciated.**

 **And, yes, I watched the premiere. I didn't hate it but wasn't thrilled by it. It was pretty lacklustre to me. Sort of happy that they seem to, at least initially, be leaning back toward making Voight the more interesting character that he was in Season 1 and 2. And maybe playing with some of the MASSIVE opportunities they missed out on in playing with and exploring his character after Justin's death and in Season 4. Really could've done without that opening Erin montage. Thought it was unnecessary, uncalled for and just kind of stupid. The Erin mention (which seemed almost word-for-word from the Halstead/VOight interaction in the S3 premier) would've been enough for me. And possibly much, much better.**

 **Not sure how much I'll watch this season. Won't be watching regularly. Will likely collect a few weeks and then binge it on a weekend evenings or something.**

 **Wasn't really feeling the reintroduction of Dawson at all. Fell flat for me. Especially it being Voight bringing him back after it was Voight who wanted him to spread his wings because he was so good at the job. Think they should've staged that a little differently. But whatever.**

 **Guess we'll see what happens.**


	21. Chapter 21

**Title: The Way From Here**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Erin must deal with the consequences of her decision to take a position in FBI counter-intelligence at the expense of her relationship with Jay and her relationship with her family. But an emergency with her younger brother provides her with the opportunity to re-examine her choices and to try to rectify any damages to her relationships. This story takes place in the AU established in Interesting Dynamics.**

 **SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers in this collection from Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas, Scenes, Aftermath and So It Goes (including chapters/scenes in So It Goes that have not yet been written or posted). This series also contains SPOILERS related to the finale of Season 4 of Chicago PD.**

Jay moved over to Erin in the bed – spooning against her. He felt her tense for a moment. Because he'd just invaded her space. Because having his crotch against her ass wasn't on her list of permissible cuddling positions for a whole variety of reasons. Ones that had added to the complexity of their sex life. When they'd had a sex life. Or a life. Or a relationship.

But he gave her arm a rub, trying to calm her a bit and settled against her – just back from her so he wasn't pressing into her. To let her make that choice for herself. And she relaxed slightly as he pressed a small kiss against her bare shoulder and draped his arm over top of her. An arm that she let her hand snake up and snake down until she found his hand and held it.

"You okay?" he asked.

He knew she wasn't. So it wasn't even really about getting her to answer. It was just trying to let her know that he was there. Because they'd both being laying there a while. Not talking. Not sleeping. And that just didn't seem to be working.

"I don't think I should've left them there," she muttered.

It was a sort of ridiculous statement of her own. About as dumb as asking if she was okay when he knew she wasn't. But she'd left them. She'd left all of them. Six weeks ago. Leaving them now – at Hank's own house, Eth's own home – didn't really count as 'leaving them'. It was pretty incidential in the whole mess.

"They're okay," he assured. He put his mouth against her shoulder again. He didn't really kiss it. He just left it there. He squeezed at her hand instead.

And he was sure they were okay. Eth was barely in the front door before he had hobbled for the couch. Bear all over him. The kid trying to figure out how to see and use the remote for the TV to get the Cubs on. And it hadn't been long before Voight was over there doing it him. That he was sitting on the couch too. And then the two of them – and the dog – were laying down on it. Just a pile of bodies. And wasn't long after that that they were all sleeping. Something they needed badly. Especially Voight.

Though, he wasn't entirely sure that Hank had been sleeping the whole time they were there. That Erin had made enough noise fussing around in her guilt and her worry to make it hard for anyone to sleep. Let alone a cop. To put groceries in the fridge. And to cook a meal they could warm up later. And to bring down a fan to blow on them – an action that just proved Voight wasn't entirely sleeping because it prompted him to grab at Eth's heating blanket the first time Erin left the room and drape it over the kid. Upstairs changing sheets and towels and making beds. Creaking all over the place and moving around fans more to try to create some sort of crosswinds. Dragging down laundry and starting a load. And then trying to drag the fucking window unit up the stairs – without saying she needed help. And when the thing barely even worked.

They'd been there a good three hours. But there hadn't been talking. Voight and Eth hadn't moved from the couch. And if they were watching the game – it was more that they were just listening to it. They hadn't opened their eyes for the play and they hadn't opened their eyes when Jay told Erin they should go. Even though he got the impression that Erin wanted to go upstairs and just claim her old bedroom. Something Hank clearly caught on to too because the only word he'd uttered at either of them since they got in the house was "Go".

He wanted his space. He likely needed it. Deserved it. And him and Eth just … needed some privacy too. After that they'd been through. For what they stll had to get through.

"What if Eth has a seizure …," she near whispered.

Jay gripped her a bit more tightly. "He would've likely had it while they were doing the exchange," he told her gently. "He didn't. And, if he does now – tonight – Hank will deal with it."

She allowed a little nod but kept so still. He could feel her fingers tracing against the ridges on the back of his hand. But that was it. The rest of her was like stone.

"It's so hot in that house," she finally said.

It was his turn to give a nod. Against her shoulder. "But it always is, babe. It's just stuffy. Windows are open now. Got the fans going. It will air out."

"We should've pushed for them to come over here," she said.

"Erin," he told her gently, "your brother wants to be home. That's home. Not here."

"I know," she pressed, "but …" And her head shook and she lay their quiet again. Still again.

So he held her. It was about the most Jay was able to do. Because he didn't really know what to do. In any of this. The entire situation. And all its layers. It was a fucking mess. Or at least a fucking onion. And peeling an onion. It was going to take you a while to get to the center of the thing. And it was likely at least going to make your eyes water along the way. And was without a doubt leave a stench on you. One that took a while to wash away. But eventually … it all came out in the wash. Eventually. When you found time to do the wash. When you aired out the kitchen.

"It seemed like Eth's eyes might be doing better today," she whispered. Almost like she didn't want to say it outloud. "Like the exchange is helping …?"

Jay nuzzled a bit at her shoulder at that. Pressed his lips against the back of it. At the blade. Again.

"His doctor talked to you about the neuritis when the M.S. has progressed like this?" he asked.

She made a quiet hum. A sound of acknowledgement. But then said, "But it seemed better. Today."

"We're going to have to wait and see," Jay put to her gently.

Because the reality was they weren't going to know. Since the crazy steroids they'd pumped into him hadn't worked they were in a limbo period now. That maybe a three months they'd have a bit of an idea of how much he'd recover. How much of his eyesight he'd get back. Just how blurry it was going to be. But it would likely be more like six months before the doctors started placing any sort of real numbers around it. That it'd be nearly a year of follow-up before they really said that what they were looking at was just the way Eth would be seeing things for the rest of his life. But, yeah. He'd acknowledge that there seemed like there had been minor improvement in Eth since he'd been in the hospital. That some days and times it felt like he was seeing a bit more. That things weren't quite as blurry. That he wasn't completely blind. More like he just really, really needed a strong glasses prescription. The sort that the doctors weren't going to be able to make for him. Because this wasn't the sort of thing that was fixed with glasses.

"Ethan … all of you … you, Hank … you're all playing so hot and cold with me," she whispered again. And he felt a slight catch in her back that time. Across her shoulders. In her chest where his hand lay.

"What do you mean?" he asked. But he thought he knew.

"You're mad at me and then … this," she muttered.

"I can be mad at you and still want to hold you, Erin," he said with some force. Some annoyance.

"One second Ethan's wanting cuddles and the next he doesn't want me in the room," she countered. Avoided the topic after being the one who broached it. "Hank's …," she sighed. "He didn't want me at the house."

"They're both exhausted, Erin," Jay told her. "They just want some space. Some privacy. We'll go by tomorrow."

She nodded. "He … The RIC-CPD fundraiser is tomorrow?"

He gave his own little nod. "It's all weekend," he allowed.

"He wants to go to that," she said. "He was … he was like a broken record. He just kept saying it. I think … that's why he wanted to come home."

Jay shook his head. "That's not why he wanted to come home, Erin. And he's been a broken record since it happened. It's the same topics over and over again. It's not about the fundraiser."

"I … I just don't know bringing him home is a good idea," she said.

"It's what Eth wanted, Er," Jay stressed. "It's his life. His health. They can finish the treatment out-patient."

"His attending clearly thought doing it in-patient made more sense," she muttered.

Jay gripped at her hand. "Er … you've got to trust that Voight listened to the doctors and listened to his kid and made a decision based on what he thought was best and what he could handle. Goodwin would've stepped in or called DCFS or … the fucking District … if they really felt it was going to be that detrimental to Eth's health for him not to be in the hospital. Will's-"

"I don't care what your brother thinks," she interjected weakly.

"Okay …," Jay allowed.

And shut up. At least for a bit. Because he was still trying to figure out how to navigate any of this. Because none of it made any sense. At all. But maybe she had a point. That he was still so upset with her. He was still so hurt by her. He was angry and sad and hurting in a way that he was slowly coming to learn was the sort of way – the sort of ache – that only Erin had really excelled at creating repeatedly in his life. And even though she kept doing that – that he kept letting her do that – he still didn't want to be anywhere else right then but holding her. But trying to bring her some comfort. To ground her. And to pull her up. Because he knew that despite the hurt she created, she was there for him when he was hurting for other reasons too. And that even the hurt she created – it still somehow seemed worth it. Even though he fucking hated it. Even though it made him as mad at himself as he was at her for the pain she created. For how hard she made it for them.

"Voight … Hank," Jay said after a while, "he talked to me today."

Erin fidgeted a little bit. "What do you mean he talked to you today?"

"That he actually formed full sentences with me," Jay said. "Gave me a little speech."

She twisted in his grip a bit. And he let her. Until she lay half prone and gazed at him – upset and questioning creasing her brow.

"About what?" she demanded.

"His wife," Jay said.

Her brow creased more. "Camille?" she asked. Confusion was there. "What about her?"

Jay gave a little shrug. "Her and veterinary school."

And her brow creased even more. To the point it was cute. He reached and moved some of her hair away from her face so he could see more of it. She'd scrunched up her forehead so much that it was causing some scrunched up wrinkles in her nose. It was funny. It made her look like a little kid. And it also made her look like Eth. Eth did that too. And it made him once again think on the nature versus nurture thing. Just how much Eth had likely learned that look from his big sister. Just how likely it was that if they got through this – if they did have kids one day – that they'd give him that look too.

"Camille didn't go to veterinary school," Erin said with genunine confusion.

And Jay gazed at her more at that. Mild surprise playing across his face. "I know," he said. "But she applied. Didn't get in."

Erin examined him. Those scrunched up wrinkles still tense on her face. "I didn't know that," she finally admitted quietly. And there was a touch of sadness to that too. "I mean … I knew she studied biology. And … zoology … I think. But … I didn't know that."

Jay allowed his own sound of acknowledgement.

"Why … how'd Hank bring that up?" she asked, still gazing at him.

Jay shrugged a bit. He played with the strap on her tank. Untwisted it for her. He tried to organize his thoughts. Because his thoughts just seemed like a mess anymore. On this stuff. It wasn't … it wasn't like on the job. With structure and routines. With muscle memory. And a little of standing orders and rules and regulations. Facts of life you just followed.

This – it wasn't predictable. At all. And no matter how much he tried to anticipate things. It always felt like he was in a mine field and he was stepping on every one as he tried to figure out exactly what a relationship was. Exactly how to operate within it.

"I think he was … just trying to give me an example of a rough patch that him and his wife had to work through," he said.

Erin made a little sound at that. And her gaze moved away from him. It moved up to the ceiling. He found her hand again.

"I think he's a little worried about how you're doing. How we're doing."

"I don't know how we're doing," Erin said flatly.

"I know," Jay acknowledged. "I don't either. But I know that I want to keep working on figuring out how we're doing."

She rotated her head to look at him. Even in the dim light he could see how glassy her eyes were.

"Are you still going to feel that way on Wednesday?" she asked.

He gave a little nod. "Yea," he said. "I will. And I will however many weeks or months it takes for you to come back."

She made a broken sound and bit at her bottom lip. "I don't want it to be months," she said. "I don't even want it to be weeks." Her hand slapped up at her eyes. A silent demand for the tears to stay put. "I can't leave now. Not when he's like this."

He reached and pulled her hand down. Holding onto it. "We'll make more calls over the weekend," he said.

She shook her head. "Jay, it's not that simple. The assignment…"

He shook his head right back and looked into her eyes. "Erin, the fundraiser. The invitational. It's the Warrior Games. There's going to be lots of people out this weekend from all sorts of backgrounds. Okay? We're going to drop out pride here. We're going to make appearances. Do some ass kissing and networking. Make calls. Ask questions. And figure out what kind of options are out there."

"To get me out of an undercover counter-terrorism assignment with the FBI that I'm not allowed to be talking about?" she put to him.

"I think we've both done U.C. long enough in enough shitty and high stake situations we can figure out a way to talk around that aspect of it," he nodded at her. "And if we can't, we can at least work on wedging some windows open back here for you. Okay?"

She shook her head and stared at the ceiling. "Bunny got what she wanted," she muttered. "All along. She … I wrecked what I had."

"No," Jay put to her firmly. She glanced at him he'd put it so firmly. "Erin, if it was wrecked you wouldn't be laying her and telling me that you're feeling like we're treating you hot and cold."

She sighed at him and went back to looking at the ceiling.

"Er," he put to her more gently and she gave him another small glance. Little more than side-eye. "I'm still okay with Plan A. When you get back. I'll move over to SWAT. Free up a spot for you in Intelligence."

She gave him a sad look. "Jay, I don't know if CPD will take me back. And …" she shook her head and went back to the ceiling. "You're good police. They're going to want to move you up the ranks."

"I can still move up the ranks in SWAT," he countered.

"You love Intelligence," she put mutely.

Jay shrugged. "It's changed, Erin," he said. "All of it. You not being there. And Al's …" he just shook his head. "Kim's …"

"She's good police too, Jay …" she offered weakly.

"She's just … not my personality type," he said. "And there's this … Adam's working on becoming the kind of cop that … he's going to end up with the wrong kind of attention soon. And Upton—"

"Is sleeping with your brother," Erin put flatly. "And spending more time in my house than me."

Jay sighed and lay flat on his back staring at the ceiling too. "Something like that," he said. "It's a rebound."

"It's awkward," Erin countered.

"Yea …," he acknowledged and then offered. "It's Will. It will be over in a couple more weeks."

"And yet still awkward," Erin said.

Jay allowed a small smile and gave her a look. "Yea …," he acknowledged again.

She gave him a thin smile too. And they looked at each other. For a long time. A quiet longing. Until finally he leaned in and kissed her. Until she kissed back and his hand snaked down the front of her panties. Because that was something he could do too. To try to make them both forget. For a few minutes. To try to bring her some sort of comfort. And himself. To try to make her feel loved and wanted. Or at least make her feel good. To try to feel something different then what she'd been feeling all day. For a few seconds. At least. Even if it was awkward too.

AUTHOR NOTE: Reviews, comments and feedback are appreciated.


	22. Chapter 22

**Title: The Way From Here**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Erin must deal with the consequences of her decision to take a position in FBI counter-intelligence at the expense of her relationship with Jay and her relationship with her family. But an emergency with her younger brother provides her with the opportunity to re-examine her choices and to try to rectify any damages to her relationships. This story takes place in the AU established in Interesting Dynamics.**

 **SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers in this collection from Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas, Scenes, Aftermath and So It Goes (including chapters/scenes in So It Goes that have not yet been written or posted). This series also contains SPOILERS related to the finale of Season 4 of Chicago PD.**

Erin didn't even try to hide her annoyance as Peter Stone came and sat himself in the bleachers next to her. In a well-worn Cubs jersey that he looked silly in given his usual suit and tie – no matter what his past life might've entailed. She'd always see him as a lawyer – never as a ball player. Though, he'd become a player of a different sort. Just not one she was sure she'd ever bring herself to fully respect. Lawyers – they were never working for you or the case or the victims. She wasn't even sure she'd buy they worked for Chicago or Illinois or justice. What that even meant anymore.

She gave him a glance. Barely. It really wasn't much more than side-eye, and then went right back to scrutinizing where Ethan was sitting. Another situation that was causing her to reel herself in so much from riping into Hank about her thoughts about that. If she was even allowed to have thoughts and an opinion on it. And, the reality was that right now, she didn't think she was allowed to. She didn't get the impression she was. And if she decided she was going to express any kind of opinion – exert herself as an adult in the family and a caretaker of Eth for years – she was likely just going to make things more complicated than they were right now. So instead she was having to sit there – and eagle-eye them – while she was biting her tongue so hard she could taste the iron in her mouth.

Ethan was in fucking uniform – sitting with his team. He might just be sitting in the dugout. Benched. Hank might be standing over there eagle-eyeing him even more than she was. But it didn't change the fact that she thought that outside, in the sunlight and the heat, a fucking day after he was released from the hospital was about the last place he should be. Let alone where he should be when the plan was to take him right from the invitational match-up back over to Med to do another fucking plasma exchange.

She couldn't wrap her head around how this seemed like a good idea to anyone. How – why – Hank had fucking agreed to it. How Jay seemed okay with this. Even if even from that distance she could see that Ethan actually looked like he might be smling. No. Not just smiling. He was glowing. Wedged next to Eva and some other gangly teen that she didn't recognize.

But she hardly recognized anyone on his team this season. She'd missed the whole start up of the season. The practices. The early games. And all Jay had given her was "Yea, the team went through a lot of changes." No explanation on where half the kids had disappeared to or moved on to – or died over the off-season? Because her head had gone there. That all these kids had been replaced – and that next season … maybe it'd be her baby brother who had left a vacant spot on those benches for some other kid to take.

She didn't even get an answer about where the fuck Evan was. About why Evan hadn't been mentioned at all in her days home. That Eva – and Avery and their grandmother – had been into the hospital. That Eth had rambled gobblygok at her about his birthday and his confirmation and Field and the Bridge program and some dinosaur exhibit Hank too him to – extensively and encylopediaclly – but there'd been no mention of Evan in any of it. Eva, yes. Zoe? Yes. Evan? No. And now he wasn't in the dug-out either.

But she didn't feel like she could ask – or at least not press – about any of it. She didn't want to get Eth upset. She didn't want to get distracted or make things more complicated with Hank. Or Jay. She knew both of them had their own things they were dealing with right now – above and beyond her. And her relationship with either of them. Or how the fuck she was going to fix the mess she'd let herself walk into.

So instead she was left sitting in the bleachers to stare. To try to … She didn't even know what she was trying to do that day. She actually thought her time would be better spent elsewhere. Rather than letting herself get so fucking worked up by this fucking decision of Hank's. No matter how … happy? It was making Ethan look in that moment. But she also knew Ethan needed her there right then. She needed to be present. She couldn't go off … doing whatever. More calls. Trying to fix things. Trying to just figure it all out. Looking at options. Running game. Moving around pieces. And trying not to fall into a hole while she did any of it.

Ethan needed to know she was there. Even if he couldn't see her. Even if he couldn't see anything. Even if all he was going to be doing during this appearance they were making was sitting in the dugout and tossing a ball back and forth between his hand and his glove. Staring across the field at a game that maybe he'd never really get to play again. He still needed her to be there to go up to him, to talk to him, to … be his sister .. when it came time to escort him across the lawn and through the parking lot and into the car and back to Med. To sit there for that. Only to take him and Hank home and to be told to leave again and then to be once again let back at home stewing about the two of them alone. When she'd already left them alone. But that was different. That was then. This was now.

And she'd rather deal with the now – her now, her family's now – then whatever the hell Peter Stone wanted. She wasn't in the mood to play nice or play politics or be some sort of PR representative on behalf of a police force and unit she was no longer even part of. So she did her best to let her body language radiate that. To try to ignore him.

"Surprised to see the family out today," he finally directed at her – to rather to the air in front of him – flatly.

She gave him a glance. "Well, here we are."

He nodded a little and gazed at the actually game that was happening in the field. Erin wasn't even sure she'd noticed that it was happening until she'd felt his line of site on the diamond. She'd been so set on just the dugout. And when it wasn't on the dug-out, it was checking to make sure that Hank still had eyes on Ethan. That someone hadn't decided that him standing in one place – which so rarely happened – meant that he wanted to talk. Or that they wanted to talk about what was becoming apparent had evolved just as much in the CPD in the six weeks that she'd been gone than had in her family. And it seemed like everyone around here was wanting to talk about it – or politics or America or policy or … just the state of the world and society and the country, in general. She didn't want to talk. And she didn't want Hank pulled into talking about any of it either. Not that he would. But it might mean his eyes came off Ethan for a moment. None of them could risk having eyes off Ethan anymore.

And Peter Stone was on the list of reasons eyes had gotten taken off Ethan in the first place. He was a contributing factor to why Hank had sent his son to boarding school. He was part of the reason that they all fucking missed multiple sclerosis creeping into his system – into his neurological make-up, his brain, his spine. Part of why they hadn't gotten an earlier diagnosis. And now part of the reason why her baby brother had once again been in hospital and now was sitting over there near blind, 'watching' a sport he might never get to play again.

She didn't care that Hank had made some sort of peace – truce – with the guy. That he looked at it through a professional lens – of Stone just doing his job. She didn't care that she'd come to her own peace of 'keeping it professional' with the State Attorney's office when it came to dealing with Stone. That had been when she had to deal with him within her capacity as a cop. She didn't have that anymore. And she didn't care that she knew in her logical adult mind that what had happened – and the state Eth was in – had to do with fate and genetics and choices made my Hank, Justin and her, not anything to do with Peter. Right now that didn't matter to her.

What mattered was that her brother was sick. The situation was a mess. And she just wanted privacy do deal with it. Peter Stone was one of the last people she wanted to talk to. About any of it. About her family – period. What was left of it. Now.

"I'd heard he'd been sick," Stone said.

And she cast him a warning look at that. Because if this was some sort of fact-finding mission – if Hank was in more trouble than he or Jay were letting on – she also didn't want to be involved. And if he was just playing nice – she didn't have any time for that either.

"He looks pretty good," he offered.

She made a sound at that and looked away. Because that was such a bullshit statement. The kind of thing that people who'd never had to deal with a chronic illness said to the patient or their family. The sort of crap that people who hadn't had to deal with a loved one in the hospital for weeks or months said. When death to them was still just something written on paper and a closed casket in a funeral home. That they hadn't had to look at it or feel it – or be the one bringing it on – yet in their lives. That they hadn't had to watch people they cared about slip away slowly. Or be taken away in one foul swoop.

And whatever Stone thought he'd known – or had heard – he clearly was on the wrong fucking rumor mill to just have heard Eth was "sick" and that he looked "pretty good" know. He didn't have the first clue what was going on. But the community – their community – could be like old ladies with their washing boards, as Hank liked to say. They hear something and it turns into a fucking game of telephone. When they treated each other like that it was a wonder they were able to put together cases that the State Attorney's office could ever prosecute. Hearsay. Unsubstantiated information.

Added yet another layer to why CPD needed an independent auditor. Whatever that was. Whatever that role entailed – beyond making it harder for the good cops to do their job and likely ass-fucking the ones who did manage to do their job to make an example – that was ultimately a non-example – of the ones who'd fucked it up for all of them in the first place. Maybe she was glad she wasn't in CPD anymore. At least not right now. Not that her assignment was much better. It was just a whole other kind of situation where she was having to bend over and take it. Though, she'd arguably made that decision on her own. Though, not on election day. Not in the way she was raised. Not in the way she'd tried to live her life. The kind of police she'd tried to be. The sort of person she'd thought she was. And the kind of country she'd wanted to believe America had evolved into. Sometimes it was easy to play blind when reality was staring you right in the face.

Chicago. Ethan. History. Bunny. Career. Family. It'd all been staring her right in the face. And she'd been blind then. Or she'd chosen to be. Chosen to ignore so much. Just like she wanted to ignore Stone right now.

"I'm sure there's a lot of Cubs fans and legal aficionados here who'd actually appreciate your glad-handing and autograph," she cast him a firmer look.

He made a mildly amused noise and kept her eyes. "I think it's Detective Halstead who's running around here glad-handing on your behalf," he said.

She shook her head and looked away. She tried to direct her head back in Ethan and Hank's direction. But she let her eyes scan. She tried to spot where Jay had gone too. Because he was busy playing P.R. P.R. in a scenario that she didn't feel made much sense. But apparently this was how he'd decided he was going to try to exert some sort of control in the situation. As useless as it might be. But Jay needed to be doing something. It was when he wasn't doing something that he – they – got into trouble. So she'd stopped her commentary on that too. Bit her tongue. If he wanted to practice chit-chat and small-talk and networking – areas that Jay did not particularly excel at at all – then fine. Maybe it'd make him a more personable person. At least for when he had to deal with victims and witnesses and mourning families. All people that he usually did his best to skirt away from. Because he hated looking them in the eyes. But he never seemed to be able to look away either. Even after it was permissible to do so. After they'd left the room or closed the door or got back in the cruiser. Jay was never able to look away. And that was part of the problem. His problem. Their problem. He thought she had too much empathy. Well, he had too much something too.

"Sounds like you're looking for a job," he said even more dryly.

She didn't even bother looking at him that time. "I have a job."

She could feel him nod. "A job or an assignment?" he asked.

And that did earn a look. "I'm in town because my little brother's graduation is on Tuesday. He's sick. He just got out of the hospital. And I'm trying to spend some time with my family and watch him play ball in the few days I have home."

"That sounds like an assignment," he put right back to her.

She shook her head and looked away. "You're interrupting my family time," she said.

"They're over there. You're over here. And he's not on the field," Stone said.

And she drilled her eyes into him that time and rose. There were lots of other places she could sit. Or – she could go and check on Ethan herself. Or Jay. See what the fuck he was actually saying to people.

But before she could move Stone tossed out, "You're in New York?"

She grabbed Ethan's backpack that she'd been watching over. Apparently she was trust-worthy and responsible enough to be allowed that task. "I'm not in a position to talk about my current employment situation."

He made another little amused noise. "I've heard you're in New York."

"It sounds like you hear a lot of things in your line of work," she muttered at him and stepped over the bench to the next level.

"I've been dealing with D.A. investigator in New York City," he pressed out at her, and she gave him the slightest glance. "A case," he provided at the look, like it needed clarification. "He's new. He's interesting. I've looked into him a bit. Colored past. Experience undercover. Way undercover. High profile cases and investigations. Some pretty impressively documented missteps – and somehow, he still got this job. And I get the impression he knows you."

She shook her head and shrugged. "Only name I'd even recognize from New York's D.A. office would be Stone."

He made another amused noise at her but just kept looking. "Brian Cassidy," he put to her.

She shrugged again. "Don't know him."

He shrugged right back at her and then nodded his head in the direction of the bullpen – or really more the fence post Hank was leaning against in keeping a watchful all over his son. "He knows Hank."

She shook her head at him. "Hanks knows lots of people," she said. "He's been doing the job a long time."

Stone made a small sound of acknowledgement. "Olivia Benson," he offered instead.

Erin turned to eye him. "What about her?"

"Brian Cassidy is her … partner," he said and then added, "at home."

Erin let that set in. She processed. But didn't have a chance to fully process – because Stone was already standing and moving down to her level, and then stepping to ready himself to go even farther down. He towered over her for a moment before he did.

"He's putting together a bit of a temporary team for this one investigation. I get the impression he has experience moving between assignments and bouncing back from …" he shrugged at her.

She glowered up at him. "I'm not looking for work in New York."

He shrugged and did take a step to the next step below her. "Way I hear it, sounds like my office will likely be looking for a new investigator in the near future. I'm sure someone's application that had investigator experience on a high profile, interstate case might stand out. An interstate case … never know where the lead investigator might end up basing you for the investigation of that type."

And he started to walk away. She stared. Because this might be a situation where it really was best for her to not say much. To just shut up. For now.

But he gave her a glance and gestured again at Hank and Ethan. "Enjoy your weekend home. Nice day for time out in the ball park. Time with family. You have a nice one."

She looked at him. "It's nicer when they're together."

He nodded. "Good luck with that."

And he was gone. Barely down the steps before he was really getting glad-handed. By lawyers and politicians. And baseball fans who wanted to forget he was a lawyer.

But she didn't really care about watching that. She looked to find Jay instead. She could see him raising an eyebrow at her. He looked as confused as she felt. It wasn't him. She didn't think. She hadn't seen him talking to Stone.

So instead her eyes rotated back to Hank – to Ethan. And he was looked at her. Right at her. She could see it. She could feel that they'd met eyes. And she saw him smack before his eyes drifted back to look at Eth.

And she knew that post he was leaning against right then – now – it wasn't a fence. It was a sign post at another fork in a road. Where he'd once again set up a possibility – a decision – and that he'd be standing. That Ethan and Jay and her life in Chicago would be standing – while she figured out which was to go.

And she didn't know how much she needed to think about this decision either. But Erin did know that this time. She at least needed to acknowledge it was a fork in the road. And she needed to talk about it. But right now – she wasn't sure she could form words. She didn't know what to say or what to think.

So she stood there. Looking. Between Hank and Ethan and Jay. And the bright, sunny in Chicago.

 **AUTHOR NOTE:**

 **So, this didn't write as well as I wanted. It's more me trying to wrap this up in a sensible way.**

 **I didn't watch Justice so I only have glimpses of Stone to know his speech patterns or attitude and mannerisms. Or even backstory.**

 **But the alleged journey he's taking this season in colliding with SVU/NYC and the journey they've put the Cassidy character on over on SVU in this season seemed like a reasonable way to spin things back around a bit.**

 **It's still going to bring it all to the originally intended ending in this story. It just allows a slightly more hopefully vaguely believable blip in spinning Erin around and getting her back on track with career and location and family.**

 **We'll see.**

 **Again, this is coming toward an end. But might still take another few weeks for me to wrap it up with the chapters I need to get out. About … 3-5 more depending on how the writing and division of text goes.**

 **Your reviews, comments and feedback are appreciated.**


	23. Chapter 23

Hank wagged a glass at Erin as he came back out ont o the back deck. Knew she'd heard him. Likely saw him. But she hadn't even looked. Was staring like she was in utter fascination with her baby brother. Magoo just curled right up against her in Cami's porch swing. Completely passed out. Just oblvivious to the way his sister was looking at him. Even more oblivious to him having come and gone from the back deck. To this mutt sitting at Erin's feet and staring right up at his boy with about the same urgent fascination as Erin was.

Funny scene. Because Hank was sure he'd seen that one played out with all the kids and their mom over the years. Though, had been more just Justin and Erin who'd been that size and with Camin in that swing. And not quite as passed out. But sure hadn't stopped her from having E up there with her either. Just that it'd become more of the talk-it-out spot for the kids while they were teens when when E was a little boy and had his mother. Then it'd been more about a place for cuddles and rocks. Just like he was getting right then.

And that was likely the other funny part about it. The way Erin was looking at E was making him think a whole lot about those first days the kid had had home when he was a newborn. Erin had seemed pretty fascinated withhim in those first days too. Holding him. Staring at him. Novelty had worn off quick when she'd realized he did a whole lot of squawking and shitting and pissing himself too. Supposed some of that never really changed. Or had come back full circle some. Long before it was supposed to with your kid. They were supposed to be wiping your ass before you ended up having to help them out with that again. Apparently with him it was going to be third time the charm with E. Though, he was doing pretty good. Bowels weren't the problem most days. It was urinary shit. But couldn't get too pissed about a little piss. Not when it was a sick kid. Your sick kid.

And he was doing real good. May still be fucking exhausted. Weak. But was seeing some life in him the past day. That counted for a lot. They needed that. He needed it. Magoo needed it. And Erin needed to see he had it in him too before she went off her own deep end.

Tired him out. Good. But got him to smile. Cami's smile at that boy. Killed him in its own way each time. The smile. The hair. The eyes. Couldn't escape that. Only let you grieve and mourn and move on so much when you got that reminder. But also didn't want to loosen his grip on that reminder. Fully intended to keep that reminder around as long as humanly possible.

But that was the thing in that too. It's your kid. You fight for them. You hold on. But you've got to keep reminding yourself that it's also a living, breathing human being in there. Not just your kid. A person. With their own thoughts and ideas and suffering. And they're the one going through the physicality of it all. They're the one dealing with that day-in and day-out. And you've got to listen to their thoughts. Their wants and needs. It's not just plowing forward with what you think it best. Maybe father doesn't know best in this kind of shit. Because Hank had pretty much come to accept that the only thing he knew was that he didn't know. He didn't know how to navigate a sick child. A sick child now in his teens with a progressive illness.

E was right. Needed to give him quality of life too. And quality of life could only be so much when you're locked up in a hospital and some sort of lab rat. E was right there too. That's not much of a life. It's not much reason to keep living and to keep fighting and to keep moving forward with some realistic expectations about the life you could have within the timeframe you'd been given.

So they were going to work on that instead. Going to start learning that now. So he could have his four or ten or twelve or twenty-odd years. However they were going to look. And they were going to get back to learning how to let him live within that.

First steps. The kid wanted his mutt. The kid wanted to 'watch' the Cubs on the couch in the front room. The kid wanted his own bed and a real fucking shower. So they'd come home. They'd done that. He'd gotten all of that. Kid wanted to support his team. Kid wanted to be at the tournament. Kid wanted to go to the Warrior Games. Okay. Wasn't sure that any of that had happened within the capacity that a well person or a well family might've imagined. But E got that too. They got him into his uniform. They say him on the bench in the shade of the dug-out with his only fucking friend in the world. And he got to be there with his team. Got to be at the tournament. Got to be at the Warrior Games. Had only been for all of ninety minutes. A fucking agonizing ninety minutes for him as a father. Ninety minutes that seemed to trudge by even slower than some of the times the docs had had E on the operating table. But he'd gotten through.

E was exhausted. But he was happy. And he was just the right kind of tired. Because by the time they'd gotten him to Med to do that day's exchange, the kid had just slept through the four hours. Right out until the nurse was in there removing all the tubing. Managed to maintain consciousness to the Escalade. Managed to make that trek on his own power. Didn't want the wheelchair. But got him strapped in and he'd nodded off again on the drive home. Barely in the door before he was out for the count again with Erin on the back desk. But let him. Let him rest. Let his body try to figure out its rebound. Let him level out. And they'd go from there.

Erin took the drink from him. Whiskey. She needed it. He needed it. And she took a sip while he went and claimed his own spot at the table. By the time he'd done that she'd gone back to looking at her brother.

"He's really starting to look like you, Hank …" she muttered. Wasn't even sure if she knew she'd said it.

So he just allowed a little acknowledgement. Took another sip. He saw it too. More and more. It was a strange mirror to look in. Stranger too since he'd spent so much of Magoo's childhood just finding his mom in him. And she was there. Undoubtedly. She – her features – stared him in the face every day too. But bits and pieces of himself were coming out of the kid more and more as he got older. Not just in looks. But he could see that too. He knew what Erin was talking about. Saw the shape of E's face. Saw those freckles. The too familiar ears. And, some of his fucking mannerisms that made Hank check himself a bit too. Wasn't just that, though. Things he said. The way he said them. How he thought. How he acted. Little quirks and quarks in him. And somehow seeing that made Hank want to be a better man – better father. And somehow sometimes it already made him feel like Ethan would grow up as much as the world was going to let him to be a better man than him. That in some ways the kid already was. Just a tough, stubborn little fucker. Hardened but the kid still wasn't that jaded. Kid still had hope. Still found good things in life and the world and the people around him. Still kept moving forward. Fighting it out. And did a whole lot of it with a positive attitude. Despite the shit hand he'd been handed.

"See you in there too," Hank nodded at Erin as he finished his swig. "And his brother. His nephew. His mom. Al. Trudy. Olive. Jay. Mix of a whole lot of people."

Erin cast him a little look at that and allowed him a thin smile. But she'd just gone back to staring at Magoo.

She'd been real quiet that day. Could tell she was working at that. That it was hard for her. Always was. Erin liked airing out her opinions. Especially when they ran contrary to her own. Which – fathers and daughter – seemed like that happened a whole lot. Sometimes even more than fathers and sons it seemed. Or at least they shoved them in your face in a very different way.

Could tell she wanted to be saying a whole lot of things about the path he was choosing. About the fork in the road that he'd let Ethan go down. Because he had to let his boy grow up some time. Asked that of him a lot. And if he was going to demand that of his son – needed to give him some leeway to be a man. To make some of his own decisions. And he needed to learn to hear him out when it came to his health. It was Ethan's health. His body. His life. As his father he had a responsibility to take care of it. To do his best to understand it. To guide it. To make decisions that E couldn't make on his own. Didn't have the emotional capacity or maturity to make on his own or fully understand the implications of. But also needed to remember – to check himself – that E knew his body. He was the only one who truly knew how he felt. Who had a gauge on what he could handle and how much more he could handle. About what he wanted within that gauge. And he needed to hear him out in that. Needed to give him some control in the decision-making. Some ownership in his body, his health, his life. He wasn't much of a father if he didn't. As hard was that was to take that step back. To relinquish that control and to listen to a kid. But kids are more resilient than you want to think. Understand a lot more about what's going on around them then you want to think too. And if he was going to treat kids that way on the job – needed to apply it at home too. In his family. Keep eyes on it. But still back. Open up his fucking ears.

So now Hank was forcing himself to trail along after Magoo. Probably forcing himself to take those steps about as much as Erin was forcing herself to keep biting that inside cheek and bottom lip and tongue of hers. He was playing back-up. Because sometimes that's the best you could do as a parent. Hoped as much as Erin hated that – she was trying to understand it. Trying to get it into her own perspective. Because you couldn't always go blazing the trail for your kids. But sometimes you could be a bit of the pack mule. Their porter. Carry the load so they could navigate the shit course they'd ended up on a bit more verbosely.

"What do you see when you look at me?" Erin near whispered over there on the other side of the deck. Real quiet again. So quiet he wasn't sure he was supposed to hear it either.

So Hank took another slow sip of his drink and looked at her. She was actually looking at him that time. Some pleading there. This apprehension like she wasn't sure what he'd answer. Or that she was going to hate the answer.

"Same as him," he allowed. "See your brothers. See your nephew. These days I see Jay. See Camille. Some days you do a better job than him at reminding me of her," he said with a little nod at his sleeping son. "And see me. Sometimes see a little more than I want to."

Erin made a bit of a noise at that. But he knew she knew what he meant. She was his daughter. He was there. The woman he'd raised. The cop he'd educated. Bits and pieces of himself had been ingrained in her. And not all good ones. Another mirror that was sometimes hard to look at. Sometimes even more frustrating to deal with.

"Not Bunny …," she muttered and went back to gazing at E. Real clear she didn't want to look at him when she put that out there.

But Hank just shook his head. "Erin," he told her firmly enough to get a glance, "never saw much of Bunny in you. If I had, you wouldn't have been a kid I thought I could help. Wouldn't have been the daughter that came into our home."

"You've told me I remind me of her," she said. "Before."

Hank clinked the ice in his glass. "Think I likely said that you sounded like her," he gravelled and then looked back at her. She was looking at him then. "And, times I've said that to you – I shouldn't have. Times I've said it – and I can think of a few – it's been less about you sounding like her, or you reminding me of her than it's been about me being pissed at myself about my failings as a parent. Things I haven't taught you. Or haven't taught you well enough. Things that I didn't stop soon enough. Let you get yourself into. Didn't keep my eyes on you well enough."

She shrugged. "I'm an adult."

"You're still my kid," he said.

"You can't fix all my problems," Erin said.

"Mmm …," he grunted and took another drink. "I can't," he agreed. "But as a father, I can try to make things a bit easier for you. To get them fixed."

She gazed at E. Seemed to hold him tighter. "So you talked to Stone," she put flatly.

He just grunted and took another sip.

"It's a job in New York he told me about," she said quietly. "Not here."

"Sometimes these things have a lot of moving parts, Erin," he grunted at her. "Six weeks. Might not be enough to have let the dust settle. To let today's Ivory Tower do some forgive and forget."

"I can't be in New York right now," she said still staring at E.

"Least then we all know where you are," he rasped at her. "Know how to get in touch with you."

She gave her head a little shake.

"Erin," he stressed at her a bit more firmly. "There's the personal and the professional here. I respect that you're thinking about family. But you've got to take a bit of a long-view here when it comes to career. Don't start putting on new blinders and coming diving right back here. You'll just be tossing yourself into another hole that will be just as hard to get out. Might be a whole other kind of dark for you too while you're down there."

"You said Antonio might come back to Intelligence," she said. "Take it over while you take leave. Or furlough. Or whatever."

He grunted. "And that might open up a spot that you'd look like a pretty good candidate for. But, Erin, sometimes players in this city need some time to turn a blind eye about the past. And that might be easier to do if you've got a nice line in your jacket between administrative leave at CPD and walking away from the Feds."

She just stroked at Magoo's forehead. Hank could see the kid's eye lids track a bit at the movement. A slight stir in him that only prompted Erin to tuck the blanket she had wrapped around him even more tightly.

"You talk to Jay about it yet," he put to her bluntly.

She glanced and shrugged. "The call …" she said.

He grunted but nodded at her hard. "Erin, picking the same tactic over and over again and expecting different results – it's not going to work. Not for a relationship. Not for marriage. You still want those options open here when you get back – you've got to learn to involve him in the conversation. Maybe you won't do what he wants or thinks is best. But you've got to hear him out and make sure he feels heard and has some kind of understanding about why you've picked the path you pick."

She let out a slow breath and looked away but allowed, "I told him what Stone said."

"Good," Hank conceded. At least it was a start. "And did you get on the horn to Cassidy?"

"I don't even know him," she muttered.

Hank leaned back in his chair. "Don't think that matters."

She glanced at him. "Wasn't he IA?"

He puckered at her. "Apparently he's not anymore."

She sighed at him. "Do you know anything about the investigation? What kind of case it is?"

He twisted his glass on the table. "Think it's going to have some layers to it, Erin. Little beyond my pay grade."

She just stared at her brother. "I don't want to spend months in New York on some … other case. One that could drag on forever too."

"Call Cassidy," he pressed more firmly. "Ask some questions."

"I don't know Cassidy," she pressed back at him.

He kept her eyes. "Then call Benson."

"Why?" she grumbled at him. "She's got nothing to do with it."

Hank made a little noise at that and took a sip of his whiskey. He nodded at her. "Think you'll find the lady of the house has a lot more to do with a whole lot of the decision-making than you think. Should be giving yourself more credit. Got a lot of sway in determining your future, Erin. Other people's too."

And she did. If she could just not be as stubborn with herself as she was with everyone else. Needed to cut herself some slack too to get some fucking movement. And a little bit of movement could go a long way. Thought she just needed to look at the kid leaning against her to know that. Look around the deck and back yard she was sitting on to know that.

Give and take. Compromise and concessions. It was the thing of life. Of career and family and relationships. A slow chess match to get to the check mate that you needed. You had to make the moves though. Really needed her to start doing that. And to look ahead and anticipate the outcomes too. Before she sacrificed another fucking piece.

A whole fucking new board had been placed in front of her. She needed to start working on navigating it. Playing with the pieces she still had at her disposal. Stop thinking about the losing board. And work with what she had.

Hoped he'd taught her that much. And that she'd understood the lesson.

 **AUTHOR NOTE: The chapter ahead of this Chapter 22 - was added less than 24 hours ago. You may want to check that you didn't miss it.**

 **Your reviews, comments and feedback are appreciated.**

 **And, since some have asked, I really don't know if/how I'll continue this AU after I finish this story. The strongest possibility is that some additional chapters might be added to previous stories in the AH (e.g. Aftermath, So It Goes, Scenes). Or that maybe I'd occasionally do O/S. I get the sense that most people who are asking want to see what plays out with Ethan (and/or Erin's relationship with Ethan and how Hank deals with it), and then the Linstead folks who want to see their relationship develop and evolve. I might. I might not. I'm not really sure.**

 **I do do other writing that isn't FF. So I'm not really sure some of things you'd like to see explored would fit really in FF anymore. And if it's not FF then I really should likely be writing it in one of my other contexts ...**

 **But, yes. I might miss the characters and their stories and think on them and want to continue writing them on occasion. So I might still revisit it or continue it. I'm just not sure and not going to make any promises.**

 **I've been asked if I would consider taking O/S requests. And, the short answer is: Yes (more through DM than in reviews). But just because I'll look at them and consider them doesn't mean I'll actually write them. And hopefully, most of the people who've asked about that do understand that I write specific types of characters/arcs/chapters/scenes and stories. If I haven't done a scene within that, there's likely a reason (either I think it's out of character, it's not a context I'm interested in exploring, or it's simply not a topic that I enjoy writing on - i.e. I only enjoy so much fluff and sap and empty declarations of love. etc.). I won't suddenly start writing exclusively M-rated O/S. I am not likely to do baby fic ad nasuaem. And the whole "Erin gets hurt and Jay's traumatized" thing is not really my idea of an awesome storyline. Because I like to try to keep things semi-based in reality (i.e. if someone is that hurt - they aren't going to be back on the job or even recovered any time soon) and I also like to try to keep the characters in character at least how I preceive them. So, if you want to send ideas - you can. There's a likelihood I've thought of them and I'm not doing them for a whole variety of reasons - but maybe it'd spin me another way. Who knows.**

 **At this point, I really don't know what will happen with the AU. And I really don't know what will happen with me and FF, in general, after I wrap this. It's a we'll see sort of thing.**


	24. Chapter 24

**Title: The Way From Here**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Erin must deal with the consequences of her decision to take a position in FBI counter-intelligence at the expense of her relationship with Jay and her relationship with her family. But an emergency with her younger brother provides her with the opportunity to re-examine her choices and to try to rectify any damages to her relationships. This story takes place in the AU established in Interesting Dynamics.**

 **SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers in this collection from Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas, Scenes, Aftermath and So It Goes (including chapters/scenes in So It Goes that have not yet been written or posted). This series also contains SPOILERS related to the finale of Season 4 of Chicago PD.**

Hank gave Jay a glance as the kid came across the yard. Gave him a small grunt. Acknowledged him. Though, sort of wished the guy wasn't there. And maybe his face said that a bit too much.

"I knocked," Jay said. Maybe too defensively.

Hank didn't much care, though. Just looked back to digging through the tools in the back shed.

Magoo hadn't quite mastered the art of putting things back where they fucking belonged. Constant fucking battle with the kid. And yet another thing on the list of maybe the third time would be the charm. It was like teen-aged kids just got fucking dumb about this sort of shit. Clean up. Put your shit away. Pick up after yourself. Tidy the damn room. Put things where they belong – not the fucking floor or the counter or shoved between the goddamn crevices in the couch. But it was likely you were speaking another language to them. Like for a period of … however many fucking years it took for them to grow up … they regressed in their mastery of the English language. Passive aggressive disobedience crap. Or just lazy little fucks.

Or it was more that they had a real different perspective on what went where. Or at least him and Magoo did. He wasn't sure he'd give Erin or J the benefit of the doubt on that one. Erin was still learning how to not be so fucking messy. In her thirties. And Justin sure didn't learn his place – and where shit went and how to manage all that – until the army drilled it into him.

Magoo, though, Hank would give him the benefit of the doubt. Right now. Just blame it on the kid's eyes being shit for likely a good several weeks before he ended up in the hospital. E had just been hiding it good. Like he tried to do with a lot of shit with his illness. But probably should've picked up on that one. And he had. He could tell the kid's eyes and vision were off. But hadn't clued into quite how much. Made him feel like maybe he should've pegged E's lazy-ass organizational skills on the pending flare. Caught it before a bullying-induced seizure really had them stuck over at Med. But hadn't. Just thought it was one of his pains in the ass being a pain in the ass.

"Got a key," he muttered at Jay.

Jay did. For a while. Wanted to say since E had been in the hospital and Jay had volunteered to check in on the mutt. Until he'd just apparently decided the dog would be better served over at his and Erin's place than locked up all day. Likely more than a little right there. Had felt a little bad about Bear being cooped up for days without seeing his boy. Especially with the bit of the heat wave they had going through yet again.

But the key hadn't been just for him to play dog-sitter. Couldn't even say that it'd come to be since Erin had taken her little jaunt so Jay could play baby-sitter. The kid had had it for a while. Maybe not from him. But Erin had gotten a copy of her copy. And despite some comments Hank might've made about that in the past – wasn't super keen on it when Erin had done that. Even if Jay had already been playing babysitter and tutor and injection nurse on more than a few occasions. But that was then. This was now. The guy didn't need to be pounding on the door and Hank didn't really feel like he needed to be going up to the front of the house to open it for him either when he could just walk right in. Sure made himself more at home than he'd like anyway.

"Erin and Eth sleeping?" Jay asked.

"E was," Hank said, casting him a bit of an accusing look. Because he had heard the guy pounding on the door. Didn't doubt that E had too. When the kid needed his rest. Needed his sleep. As much as he could get him to do that.

Though, wasn't too hard that afternoon. Not after letting him sit in the sun at ball. Not after having him over at Med for the next plasma exchange. E was ready for the shut-eye. Thing was that Magoo still wasn't too sure about shutting his eyes while he was alone. Still a little worried that the last time he shut them would really be the last. So was fighting sleep a bit. Not letting himself relax – when he needed to.

Hank wasn't too bad about that. Didn't mind sitting with the kid until he let his eyes shut. Hadn't had any qualms about tucking the kid into the Queen in the Master the night before and sleeping next to him. Not that Hank had let himself do much sleeping either. Just stared at his little boy and worked at getting his head on straight for the coming days and weeks and months and whatever all this shit was going to bring. And it was a hell of a lot more comfortable doing that at home. Hell of a lot easier to hold and comfort his boy and to try to give him some affection and strength and get him to level out when they weren't locked in some hospital ward and chained to some bed and sitting on some hard-ass chair.

Could only sit still so much, though. Been one thing doing it at the hospital. Had been focused enough on it being where he needed to be. Where Magoo needed him to be. Another third time charm thing. His fuck-ups as a parent and a father. Couldn't be repeating them right now. He was what E had left. His mom and brother – gone. Situation with Erin still in flux. And would take a good while to repair fully. Couldn't be leaving a little kid alone in the hospital. Not like that. Needed to keep his ass planted there. Focus on the case at hand. And that was getting E well enough to get him home.

Wouldn't say that it was a closed case there. But at least got him home. Because his kid had exerted himself. In a very real way. That was hard enough. But to lay there with him at home and work at wrapping his head around it. Couldn't do it. Needed to be up and doing something. Couldn't exactly be leaving the house. But did have a strong suspicion that that Honey-Do List of Camille's that was still in the bottom of the one drawer in the kitchen – he'd be ticking off a bunch of items that had long been put on over the coming weeks. Something to keep him occupied. Something he could putter on. Fix. Do. Get done.

He'd get to it. Though, would work on this first. The little platform and sandbox shade shelter. Reality was that might not have been on Cami's Honey-Do list but was likely on her home reno wish list somewhere. Something they'd talked about when E was just a little guy. Had managed to find the time to build the box. Hadn't gotten as far as the shade shelter. Was now, though. Had supposed to have been a project with Eth. And had started as that. Would still let him help a bit depending on how his strength was doing in the coming days. But bigger goal was just to get it done. That Magoo had wanted it ready for H for the Fourth of July. That was more than doable. Would bring both of the little guys a bit of a smile. That was a decent enough project objective in itself.

Was really only getting so much done, though. With Erin hovering around. And now Halstead. With heading inside every ten minutes to peek in on E. And that kid was likely going to be awake now – trying to get down the stairs and wanting company in the front room or to sit out on the deck again – now that Jay had gone pounding on the damn door when he had a fucking key.

But for now, he just fucking nudged by him. Had found what he was looking for and was ready to get back to the project at hand.

"Erin's not here?" Jay put to him. Either not picking up on the fact he'd likely awoken the sick kid or just not fucking caring.

Hank grunted and went back to examining the wooden structure that he'd gotten together so far.

"She's not answering her phone," Jay pressed.

Hank gave him a glance. Guy sounded a little insecure with the way he'd said that. You'd think he'd be used to Erin not answering her phone at this point. They'd all gone through a whole lot of that the past six weeks. But maybe that was the point. All still walking on some eggshells. Waiting for her to find that hole to drop into to play a bit of another disappearing act on them. And, though, Hank wouldn't entirely rule that out of the realm of possibility – he thought they were a bit beyond that at the moment. That it wasn't the old hole they had to worry about her dropping into. It was her deciding to jump head long into another one because she was letting her head spin. Just end up getting herself in a bigger mess if she didn't stop and think some. Process. Hear her gut out and then work at adjusting her head.

For all Jay knew she could be out working on that. Dealing with her handlers. Making some calls to the FBI. Calling fucking Brian Cassidy. Figuring her shit out. But Hank knew that wasn't where she was at either.

"E wants pie," he put to the guy flatly. "Went out looking for it. Don't know why she's not answering her phone."

Maybe she was driving. Maybe she'd got cornered into a conversation at the fucking over-priced speciality bakery that made crusts and fillings E could eat. Because they'd become recognizable clientele there over the past year. Maybe she'd gotten the crazy idea in her head that she was some sort of bakr and had decided she was going to attempt the pie on her own and had her hands full in the grocery store.

Or maybe the pie thing really was a front and she was out making the kind of calls she should be making. Or she just wasn't answering the phone when Jay called because she wasn't ready to start talking about the decisions she had in front of her and the hoops she was going to need to jump through to get things to work out any way near the way she seemed to want them to. At least in that moment.

And maybe Jay got that.

"She said Stone told her about some investigative team the D.A.'s office is putting together in New York," he said.

Hank just grunted. Went back to working on marking down his measurements on the planks.

"I already told her that I'd transfer out," Jay said. "To SWAT."

Hank smacked and looked at him. "Don't think that's going to solve much for her at this point."

Jay leaned against the back deck, crossed his arms. "And how does some gig in the NYC D.A.'s office get her out of Counter-Terrorism?"

Hank shrugged at him. "Her and the FBI are going to have to figure out the logistics of that one."

"To have her still in New York?" Jay pressed harder.

Hank stared at him and then stopped what he was doing. Pulled off the glasses and put them in his shirt pocket and set his eyes on the man in front of him.

"Jay," he gravelled at him firmly, "Erin puts on blinders. She has for as long as I've known her and when she's got them on it's a real fucking battle to get her to see anything else. Blinders for Bunny got her into a situation where she dove into putting blinders on for … I don't know. Escape, avoidance, career. Bunny before career. Career before us. And now she's got blinders on for Ethan. And she's going to put him ahead of thinking about her future in a meaningful way. She – you – got to get on the same page and got to look a bit at the big picture here."

"I'm having trouble seeing how quitting one job to take another in New York City is really helping anyone here," Jay put to him.

Hank smacked. "Erin's not coming back to CPD, Jay," he rasped. He could see the guy tense at that. "Even a bit down the road, somehow this city does that thing it does and forgets a bit, makes some records disappear, don't hold your breath that she's coming back to Intelligence. That I'd be the one to put her back on a desk. Or that there will even be an Intelligence Unit for her to go to."

Jay gripped at his bicep and stared at him. "That's what they said at your meeting in the Ivory Tower?"

Hank smacked again. "Got told I've got some of my own hoops to jump through. If I want to keep the unit. If the unit's still going to exist six months down the road."

Jay did the whole solider thing. Tried to steady himself. But could see the fidget in him. The guy always had a small tell in him. Didn't do so good at keeping still either.

"So, you want to move to SWAT," Hank shrugged at him, "maybe not a bad idea career-wise. Get out before they nitpick the hell out of every move you make. But Erin looking into this D.A. investigator gig – it's a good career move too."

"In New York City," Jay put flatly.

Hank shrugged. "Know where she is. Easy enough to get back-and-forth for some visits."

"Do you even know anything about the case? The investigation?" Jay pressed.

He smacked. "Got the sense that it's got some interstate and cross-jurisdictional aspects going on."

"Meaning …," Jay asked. But not really. Because the guy had been a cop long enough that he should know. He did know.

"That it's going to be high profile. Big stakes. And a feather in her cap when it comes to making her next career move."

Jay made a little sound and stared down at his feet. "I looked into this Brian Cassidy guy a bit."

"Mmm …," Hank grunted.

"You know him?" Jay looked at him. "Trust him?"

Hank shrugged. "Met him once. Trust? Going on the fact he's police and he's shacked up with Benson."

"He's I.A.," Jay said.

Hank smacked at him. "Not anymore."

"He was."

Hank scrubbed at his face and stared at Jay for a long beat. Guy just stared right back.

"Halstead, here's what I know about Brian Cassidy. He puts up with Benson on the home front – and that's got to count for something."

That got something that almost resembled a smile – just of a tug of one – out of Jay. But there was truth to it. Got the sense that Benson was a decent enough cop. At least for the kind of unit she worked in. It took a certain type and she'd been doing the job a long time. Something she felt someone needed to do. And was she way of serving her city and her community. She had a way with the victims. Knew how to shut cases. But Hank also knew that he could play nice and deal with a professional stop drink or dinner with her. But wasn't his personality type to want to put up with at home. Or in his personal life in any way. Had only met Brian Cassidy the once for all of half-an-hour but thought their personality types might be more similar. Or just two guys who'd done the job long enough. Either way, figured the guy was better than him to deal with Benson on the personal end of things. But supposed love made you put up with a lot of things. Good, bad, and ugly. Figured Jay should have some sense of that too.

"Know that the two of them – their oldest, kid adopted as a teen. J's age now. And know their two little ones, can do the math and figure out they started their family in their forties. And, I can appreciate that too."

"So what? He seems like he might be a family man so … what? That means this makes sense for Erin?"

Hank smacked at him. "You still want kids, Jay?"

Jay glared at him and gave a little shrug. Acted dismissive.

"When you've got kids – on this job, trust me, you're going to want a boss who's a family man, who likes his family, likes spending time with his kids, respects you for wanting the same," Hank said.

"Don't have kids right now," Jay put flatly. "And he's not potentially going to be my boss."

"Erin wants to think about E right now – let's take the fucking blinders off and make it about family—"

"Family isn't really a consideration when she's in New York," Jay interrupted.

"She needs to start working on positioning herself long-term, Jay," Hank pressed. "She wants a guy who respects family right now. And if you two get sorted, if you're talking babies another few years down the road, you're going to want one of you in a position that's more nine-to-five. And, if you want Erin not beating herself up with the personalized self-induced guilt trips, she's going to need a gig where she's around some."

Jay made a noise. Hank doubted he'd even heard or considered what had been said.

"So she needs a family man as a boss? Not a good cop? Because I'm not sure the guy's public record screams good police."

Hank smacked. "Does yours?" he nodded. "Does mine?"

Jay tensed again.

"First stop as detective was Manhattan SVU," Hank recited. "Moved to Narcotics and spent a good chunk of his career there. Ended up in a U.C. investigation that had him under for pushing four years. That's a long fucking time. Whole thing blew up in his face. Got made. Got shot. Almost died. Still had brought in enough intel to bring down some pretty fucking prominent and major power players in the city's elite. And their Ivory Tower still saw fit to hang him out to dry for shit he had to do while they left him under for that long. The guy gets to ride the night desk at the fucking court house. Until I.A. cuts a deal with him to send him. Sometimes you have to play the fucking game. He did. I have no idea what cases he worked in I.A. or what sort of investigator he was in I.A. Who he screwed or didn't screw. Do know that after he hit his twenty, he took it for all of six months because the D.A.'s office pursued him. So that says something. And the history – says to me, he's dealt with the political and bureaucratic bullshit of the job, knows how to navigate it and survive it. And I think – hope – that will make him slightly sympathetic to what Erin's managed to get herself into. And maybe a little helpful in helping her get her career and life back on track. If she puts in the fucking work. The way I know she can. If she pulls her head out of her ass. Takes off the fucking blinders. And the two of you start talking big picture and future plans and not just looking at the next six weeks or three months or Ethan. He's my son. Intelligence – my job – it's my situation. I'll deal with that. You two fucking deal with yours."

"And he's just going to give Erin a job?" Jay pressed. "Just like that."

"If either of you would get off your fucking asses and give him a call, maybe," Hank said.

Jay stared at his feet again. Arms crossed tight. Like he was finally thinking some.

"She's a good investigator, Jay," Hank nodded at him. "She can do the U.C. work. Isn't bad at it either. But following the paper trail. Working the interviews. Making sure all the t's are crossed and the I's dotted to make a case in court – always been some of her stronger points as police."

"Yea …," Jay acknowledged.

"So look into it," Hank gravelled.

Jay looked up. "You and Stone aren't making any promises about Antonio coming back to Intelligence and opening up a spot at State are you?"

Hank shrugged and pulled his glasses back out to look back at his handiwork. "Right now, Jay, my hands are tied. All of us are just going to have to keep our heads down and mouths shut and let the powers that be do their things. Ask their stupid questions. Give our answers. And keep our fucking options open. You thinking you're ready to make that move to SWAT might not be a bad thing. Just don't start thinking that's you sorting out any problems for Erin."

Jay straightened a bit. "You need help with that?" he asked for the project. Apparently he didn't look like a handyman. Or at least not a carpenter.

Hank just looked at him, though. "What I need out of you is to go and be the man in her life," he told him firmly. "Whatever the fuck is going on between you two, make her dinner … take her to dinner … start talking it out. Work it out. Make a plan. Or Wednesday is going to be here and …" he shook his head and shrugged. Because he didn't fucking know. What he did know was that it wouldn't be good. It'd just be a bigger mess. And he seemed like he was getting worse and worse with age at sorting any of that out of his kids. The bigger the kids, the bigger the problems and the harder they were to resolve. Couldn't just fix them with a bowl of ice cream and late-night fatherly chit-chat anymore.

Expect when you could. Because Erin picked that moment to come through the back gate.

"You know that Ben and Jerry's makes dairy-free, gluten-free ice cream now?" she asked, gazing into a bag while she balanced two pie boxes on her hip. "I got him a couple kinds to try."

She looked up with a big smile. Biggest he'd seen out of her since she'd been home. But he'd seen both his kids smile that day. It counted for a lot. It helped. With all their healing.

"Oh," she said seeing Jay. "Hey."

Jay just gave a little nod. Looked too fucking awkward. Erin caught that. And glanced at him.

"I interrupting something?"

Hank grunted and looked back to the platform he was working on building. "Just the building of this fucking Fourth of July ice cream eating stand," he muttered.

"Mmm …," Erin acknowledged and gazed at it. "Because Ethan needs a pedestal to eat his ice cream?"

He grunted again and gazed at it. "Him. Grandkids," he allowed.

"Kid," Erin corrected.

He shifted his eyes to her, making sure to track past Halstead in the process. "For now," he said. "Keep thinking maybe some day I'll get to see what it's like to have a little girl around while she's cute and fun and not a fucking pain in my ass."

Erin gave a little nod. "Thanks, Hank …," she muttered and moved past, up the steps and toward the freezer.

"Check your brother …," Hank instructed. Again catching Jay's eyes.

But the guy looked away. And appreciated he did. Because he followed Erin, taking the balanced pies from her before she managed to drop them and asked directly, "Hey, you want to grab dinner? The Purple Pig? My treat. And I'm thinking truffles."

She allowed a slightly amused noise but the guy got a small smile too. A small one. But it was a start.

And the two of them – they needed to fucking start. They'd put it off too fucking long. And now wasn't the time for baby steps. Not anymore. Needed to take the hammer to it. Get those square pegs into the round holes. Get it all sorted. Before Wednesday. Fucking hell.

 **AUTHOR NOTE: Your feedback, reviews and comments are appreciated.**

 **The previous two chapters (Chapter 22 and 23) were updated in less than 24 hours apart. So they didn't bump and have lower readership. You might want to check you didn't miss them.**

 **Also — the Cassidy/Benson thing that I mention, though they have a previous relationship in the TV show, the reference of them still being together and having (adopted) children is in relation to my AU (Hello Goodbye and Welcome Home).**


	25. Chapter 25

**Title: The Way From Here**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Erin must deal with the consequences of her decision to take a position in FBI counter-intelligence at the expense of her relationship with Jay and her relationship with her family. But an emergency with her younger brother provides her with the opportunity to re-examine her choices and to try to rectify any damages to her relationships. This story takes place in the AU established in Interesting Dynamics.**

 **SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers in this collection from Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas, Scenes, Aftermath and So It Goes (including chapters/scenes in So It Goes that have not yet been written or posted). This series also contains SPOILERS related to the finale of Season 4 of Chicago PD.**

Jay startled slightly as he realized Erin was talking to him. That she'd definitely been saying something to him and he hadn't been hearing it because that time her voice had been raised enough and had enough of an edge to it that it caught is attention. Made him bring hi eyes to her.

"What?" he had to ask. Because he really didn't have a clue what she'd said. He definitely hadn't heard it at all. He wasn't sure how long he'd been spaced out. But it made him a little mad at himself that he'd let himself do that.

It was hard, though. He had a lot on his mind. And the restaurant had a Saturday night crowd. It was busy. Loud. Lots of movement. Lots of voices. Too much distraction. And he could only handle so much of that and keep his focus. At least when there wasn't a task at hand. Or maybe it was more when there wasn't a task at hand where he didn't have his body armor on and a gun in hand. Because he definitely had a task at hand. He just felt sort of clueless about how to complete it. And he definitely wished he had his Kevlar on.

Erin raised an eyebrow at him. "Work?" she put to him directly. "The call? Was it bad? You seem … distracted."

"Oh …," he allowed. And thought about how to answer that.

He didn't really know. There only seemed like so much point in trying to explain to her what Intelligence had become without her. And now without Voight.

To explain how Burgess had a lot of heart but still had a lot of naivety. That maybe she could take care of herself but she still seemed to charge into situations too quickly without thinking about all the possible angles. The possible outcomes. And it'd become worse since what happened to her sister. Worse since Kim had come back. And worse since it sort of felt like people were pussy-footing around her and giving her more leeway than they should while she was raging out more and more. Taking situations into her own hands more and more. Feeling like she was less of a team player and more of a woman on a mission a lot of the times. And like that was only going to get worse unless someone reeled her in. And it didn't seem like it was going to be Olinsky who did that. Or Ruzek. And Jay wasn't sure it was his place even if he was sitting in Voight's office filling out paperwork at the end of every shift now.

To explain how Ruzek's white upper-middle-class bordering on privileged upbringing was coming out more and more. How shit he was saying and doing just seemed to illustrate how out of touch he was about the whole socio-economic situation and demographics and politics in play in the city. How he was a Beverly kid and it'd shaped his views as an adult. Which was … what it was. But it was starting to seep over into his views and actions as a cop and that was going to bite him in the ass. If not all of them. And Jay just didn't feel like dealing with a a fucking alpha being obnoxious about their work in certain neighborhoods. Not respecting it. Not showing common sense about how you acted and interacted with the people there. And he didn't want to hear any more bullshit or comments about Muslims or Syrians or terrorists from a guy who got to go to college and the only time he'd ever left the United States had been to go get all-inclusively shit-faced in Mexico or some on some island. And that Ruzek's attitude and comments just seemed to be getting worse since Burgess got back. Since it became clear – that she still didn't have any interest in getting back with him.

To explain that Al had turned into a shadow of a man too. That now he was all about protecting women and female rights on the job. Jumping down people's throats for so much as looking at Kim or Upton the wrong way. Jumping the gun on any cases they had that involved female victims. Wanting to get to the beat down within five minutes of dragging a suspect in the door – when they had all eyes on them. He just had no patience anymore. He didn't work the cases the same way. He just wanted to kick in faces. And then be left alone at work to do his thing. Which clearly wasn't paperwork or running the unit.

To explain that Jay could tell that Atwater was losing his patience with both Kim and Adam. Likely justifiably so. But that he was trying to keep it together. Because Kevin was a climber. He was going to be career police. And doing the job wasn't likely going to be good enough for him. Or for what he wanted to accomplish. That he wanted rank and positioning. And maybe he needed it too. And maybe he recognized that because of his skin color he was stuck having to hold his tongue and himself to loftier standards than maybe the rest of them. So instead he quietly seethed. And that just felt like a ticking time bomb too.

To explain that him and Upton weren't jiving yet. That they felt way out of sync when they were in the field together. On scene. That Jay never really felt like he trusted her to entirely have his back yet. That maybe he never would. Because she was a different kind of police. She had the ego. Because she'd accomplished some shit in her career and had the accolodades – that as much as she downplayed, she also made sure everyone knew. And she was too by-the-book. And that only worked so well in Intelligence. And she was too … just wanting everyone to like her and respect her. And that … just rubbed Jay the wrong way too.

To explain to her that they'd installed cameras in the interrogation rooms since she'd left. Since she'd shoved a gun down a guy's throat. That they were having to file extra paperwork. Or at least it felt like a shitload more because right now he was the one responsible for making sure every fucking piece of it ended up at the Ivory Tower the way they wanted. And they came back at you if a fucking I wasn't dotted the way they liked.

To explain that it wasn't just that the unit didn't feel the same without her. That things had changed. They'd all changed with their own hit in their own lives. And that Jay was having more and more trouble imagining wanting to stay on with the unit with the group that was there. If VOight didn't get back soon and somehow managed to make everyone mesh again as a team. But Jay wasn't even sure the guy could manage that either. Given the change. Given the way he'd changed too. Given his own distractions and shifting priorities and responsiblities.

To explain that just the job had changed. All of it. CPD. That the whole soci-political-economical demographic activist … whatever … environment they lived in had changed. That maybe they'd seen that coming. The past year. Two years. Five years. Their whole careers. But the city was definitely working to change that now. The country was. Because Chicago got to have the spotlight on it. Chicago – its police – was being used as an example in the country of shit that was going sideways. And how to try to fix it.

The only problem with all of that was that it was also making the job harder to do. It was like it was tying the hands of the police who actually did the work while giving a free pass to the ones who were the assholes. The ones who were the problems. And that even if change did happen – it wasn't the kind of thing that was going to happen overnight. This was the sort of thing that happened over a generation. Over a whole career. But with the way that transformation looked, Jay wasn't sure that's how he'd envisioned his work in the police being. What it'd look like.

So, yeah. He'd been being real with her about going to SWAT. Because there he'd get a mission. He'd train. He'd get in and get out. There'd be less politics involved. Less bullshit. He'd work on muscle memory. He'd work on executing orders. Taking targets down. It seemed simplier. It seemed to make more sense. And it seemed a whole lot more fucking meaningful than managing personalities and paperwork behind a desk. It'd be a different – a better – kind of organization.

Maybe it'd feel better than everything did right now. Maybe it'd feel better than any of it did for a while. Because … some of the cases … he was just sick of. Some of the U.C. He was just sick of. He was sick of … steadying himself against triggering. He was sick of having to try to figure out dealing with it alone. To not have Erin around to not talk about it with. He was sick of his meetings. And his therapy. And feeling like he was in a better position than a lot of guys and should just suck it up. And to wonder why the fuck he was even going to any of that stuff anymore if him and Erin weren't going to work out.

But maybe it would. If he wasn't so fucking distracted.

Jay shook his head. "Ah, it was okay. City's just on high alert with the Warrior Games in town, coming up on the long weekend. Dignitaries."

"Intel the terrorists going after Prince Harry? Or Kelly Clarkson?" she quipped.

He allowed a thin smile. "Think you'd have better intel on that than us."

She gave her own thin smile and picked at cheese plate that Jay had also been neglecting as he stared out the window into the city's lights. The Walnut Room. She'd vetoed the Purple Pig for this. Probably a good move. He knew realistically they wouldn't have ended up with a table at the Purple Pig. It wasn't the kind of place you just showed up at and got seated. Though, her was busy too. And the view. The lights. That just added to his distraction. His ability to get lost in his churning thoughts that couldn't seem to still with the activity around him.

"My big contribution to that effort would be to tell you to put extra bodies at any stores selling tiki torches," she said and put a piece of cheese in her mouth, followed by a candied walnut.

He allowed a smile at the comment but stared at her – weighing how much she was trying to be witty versus the fact behind the statement. Erin's sass was usually rooted in reality. That's why it could sting as much as it could make you smile. But somehow that statement just made him frown. Because he knew it was ultimately some other sad commentary about the kind of group she had her embedded with. And he could read between the lines.

"Woods, Voight's old partner," Jay said, reaching to claim some of the food too. "They've made him the internal auditor of some bullshit."

Erin made a face. "Really?"

Jay made a sound as he chewed. "When Voight gets back. That's going to be a shit-storm."

She shook her head. "Maybe it already is. He didn't say much. But I got the sense his review at the Ivory Tower didn't go well."

Jay nodded. "He said he had some hoops to jump through. That's all he's told me. Woods likes the hoops. He's all about P.R. bullshit. Releasing shit to the media. Playing nice. It was a bullshit call. But because they have me in the office and with the Games and the media in town and high alert and all that … had to go in."

Erin allowed a little nod. "You looked like it was still eating at you."

Jay gazed at her. It hated that she could see that much about him – just by looking at him. But that their relationship could be so out of sync. That they'd fucked it up that badly. But that felt like a whole other shit-storm to give head-long into. So instead he gestured out the window.

"I just got caught up in the view," he tired. He half-way lied. Though there was truth to it. He loved a good view of their city. He was willing to pay for that. For real Chicago. And this was definitely that. "I've never been in her before."

Erin gave him a little smile and glanced around their ornate surroundings. It was both tacky and so fucking awesome too. A landmark you should visit. Marshall Field's. That's as Chicago as it gets. But when something had somehow been around so long you forgot it was there. Or just so smack in the fucking tourist district anymore that you avoided it all together.

"I've been once before," she said, as she pulled her eyes away from the carved carousel that occupied the center of the space. "Camille brought me here for my seventeenth birthday."

Jay raised an eyebrow. "Really?" The place didn't exactly scream somewhere you'd take a seventeen year old kid. Maybe a little kid. Or your grandmother. Unless you were there for the views and the Koval. Then that was a different story. But he doubted either of that was something a seventeen year old would be able to indulge in or appreciate. At least not on their foster mom's dime.

Erin allowed another small smile at his face apparently. His reaction. She picked at the plates in front of them.

"Yea …"

"And did you order the chicken pot pie then too?" he teased.

She smiled a bit wider. "Jay, you don't come to the Walnut Room and not order Mrs. Hering's chicken pot pie. It's been on the menu since 1890."

He allowed her a grin. But Erin shook her head and moved to selecting an olive instead of picking at the cheese.

"That's what Camille said," she provided. "I actually think she just really wanted the chicken pot pie. I mean, she was trying to do something special for me on my birthday. But she was just so pregnant on my seventeenth." She smiled again. "She was this thin lady. Fine boned, fine features. And how she carried Ethan."

Erin made a rotund gesture at her own stomach. Jay allowed a bigger grin at that.

"Seriously," Erin pressed, "it was like a jiffy pop when she was I don't know … maybe around four months. She was huge. It looked so awkward and uncomfortable."

"Sounds like it," Jay conceded.

"She claimed that's just how you carry boys. But I don't know …" she shrugged.

"Maybe some day," Jay allowed and reached across the table to find her hand. To still it from her picking at their appetizers. To hold it.

She allowed him a sad smile at that effort but also didn't pull her hand away. This quiet moment where they shared eyes. And Jay knew that once again they had this added layer of shit they were dealing with that they weren't going to talk about right now. That this time last year they were pregnant. That a few weeks from now they'd miscarry. And that in a different universe they'd have a six-month-old baby on their hands. That Voight referring to grandkids – and building a fucking … whatever it was he was building … a make-shift fort – would've been correct usage of the plural. That if things hadn't gone to shit six weeks ago … or six months ago … depending on how they looked at it … that maybe they'd be pregnant again right now. Or at least they'd be trying. But they'd both gone off their respective deep-ends in their own respective ways. And now … here they were.

"I've been thinking about her the past few days," she said and gripped at his hand. "I know I hurt you. And Ethan. And Hank. And I can see and feel all of that. But being in the house, being around Eth and him so sick again … I just keep thinking about … how much me … picking Bunny … and leaving … Chicago, my family, all of you … after everything she did for me. All the sacrifices she made and what she tried to teach me. The kind of mom she actually was to me. How it would've hurt her so much."

Her voice cracked a bit and Jay rubbed his thumb across the top of her hand. "Er, kids do stuff that hurt their parents. They do things that hurt us. You can't dwell on it now. I think she'd just be happy that you're here now. That you're trying to fix it."

Erin looked at him with watery eyes. "And that makes it harder. Because I see how Hank is treating me. How you are. How you're both trying. Even though … you're hurt. You're angry. And I know she'd be doing the same." Erin let out a little laugh but it crackled and trembled through her shoulders. "Though …," she shook her head. "I know the kind of looks she'd be giving me. The tone. She wouldn't make it easy. Like Ethan. He's not going to make it easy."

"So then maybe she's still here for you to try with," Jay offered. "In him."

Erin nodded and a tear trickled down her cheek. Right at the moment their server came up with their two chicken pot pies and peach nest salads. Erin's hands slapped at her face to try to hide the tears. The waitress gave them both an apologetic look and gestured at their charcuterie board.

"Just leave it," Jay told her.

She nodded and straightened, softly saying she'd be back to check on them in a bit. Them. Not their food. Not their drinks. Erin gave Jay an embarrassed look. But he just stroked his thumb over her hand again and nodded at their food.

"Looks good," he provided.

She allowed a little smile. A forced one. But drew her hand away to claim her fork, giving him a little nod and focusing on her food while she composed herself a bit. A new task. And he took his on too. Working at eating the winter comfort food though it was distinctively summer weather in the city.

"How was Eth this afternoon?" Jay asked when they'd eaten a bit. When she'd clearly re-centered herself.

She gave a little shrug. "Up and down," she allowed. "Happy to be home. But a little sucky. Going to the game made him spin out a bit about … the future."

"Yea …," Jay acknowledged. He imagined there'd be a lot of that in the coming months. And he got it. The kid would have a lot of adjustment ahead of him. That'd be hard for a grown man. Scary enough. This was just a kid.

"They changed up his anxiety medication while we were at Med," she allowed. "Maybe that will help."

"Maybe," Jay allowed. But it might also just turn the kid into more of a zombie. More of a shell than he already was. But he got that they needed to figure out how to manage a lot of competing priorities in letting the kid have some sort of quality of life. "Everything went smoothly with the exchange, though?"

"Yeah," she allowed. "But he had that allergic reaction again. And puked. So the counteractive they gave him knocked him out. Probably more than just … everything would've."

Jay nodded. "But it's likely good he's resting."

"Yea …," she allowed quietly. "He's happier. To be home. With his dad and dog and bed. His stuff."

"It's likely hard being in an unfamiliar environment when your vision is fucked up," Jay said.

She allowed a nod. But then focused on picking at her food again. She didn't exactly look like she was enjoying it maybe as much as she remembered it. But it also could just be that she'd lost her appetite. Or hadn't really had one to begin with. Jay could relate to that too. Still, he picked at his plate too. Because it really wasn't that bad. He could see why a pregnant lady would crave this. He could understand why this might be a decently special place to pick to take your daughter for a birthday lunch out a couple months before there was going to be a new kid on the scene. Just a place to have some time together. To have a special moment. A memory. And sometimes the memories were better than … whatever was on the menu at a particular moment. Just the time. Giving each other the time.

So he gave her some. Let her eat. Let himself eat. Just let them be there.

"What are you thinking about that gig Stone told you about?" he finally asked.

She looked up from her meal. Stared at him. It felt like a long time. Long enough that he stopped eating too.

"I think, like you said, Hank, Ethan – they're going to need a lot of help the next few months."

Jay allowed a little sigh and put down his fork to stare back at her. "Yeah," he acknowledged. "But I mean me, Olive we'll help out as much as Hank lets us. So maybe we – you – should think about it from a bit of a career standpoint."

"Ethan's not going to understand why I'm taking another job in New York," she said. "He's … I'm afraid he's going to spin out when I have to leave on Wednesday. If it's a few weeks before I'm able to get back."

Jay let out a breath. "Er, he might not like it. But he's mature enough to wrap his head around it. And, if it's just doing an investigation with the D.A.'s office, I mean, you'll likely have most weekends off. You can come home. I can go out there. After Eth's more on his feet, me or Hank can bring him out. Go do all the dinosaur and baseball shit that New York City has to offer."

She smiled a little at that. "You know how he feels about the Yankees and their barosaurus."

"Yeah, well, we'll sell him on the titanosaur," Jay contended.

"How?" she pressed. "A Chicagoan discovered the Giganotosaurus."

Jay rolled his eyes. "Dinosaur trivia book today?"

"Mmm …," she allowed. "Until he fell asleep. He let me read him a few chapters of Harry Potter too."

"Should've let Hank read," Jay said. "That voice would knock anyone out in all of five minutes."

"Hank's not allowed to read him Harry Potter," Erin said. "Apparently."

"Yea …," Jay acknowledged.

He knew that. He hadn't even been allowed. The whole effort to finish the series had been put on hold while Erin was gone. And even if Eth wasn't making it easy for Erin – he also thought that her being allowed to read to him, those books, it meant something. It was progress. He still loved her and wanted her in his life. Even if she'd hurt him. And Jay knew that feeling too.

"I think maybe you should at least call Cassidy. Or Benson," he said. "Ask a few questions."

Erin just gave him a look and went back to her meal.

"Erin, maybe they need an investigator in another state or jurisdiction. If Stone's talking to him? Knows about the case? It could be big. Maybe it's not even just people in New York or that D.A.'s office they're looking for," he argued.

She sighed at him and shook her head. "Jay, I'm framing my whole conversations with the FBI – with my handlers – around Ethan being sick. Around me needing to be home. It's going to look bad if I make them pull me out, get someone else established, quit the job and then still land in another office 800 miles away from my family."

"So fuck that," Jay pressed at her. "Forget that. Who cares what they think? You've pretty much decided that working for the Feds isn't for you, right? This U.C., assignment, it's not for you? Getting out of that, now, with your head on straight, is still about your family. It's about your future."

"Jay—"

"Erin," he argued a bit more firmly. "You being in an office where we can reach you. Us being able to come out and visit. You being able to come home on weekends. That still makes more fucking sense with Ethan being sick than some undercover counter-terrorism assignment where we don't know where the fuck you are or what the fuck you're doing or how the fuck to get a hold of you or when the fuck we're going to see you. It's still about Ethan being sick and you needing to be available to him."

She shook her head and stared at her ripped apart pot pie. The spread shredded potatoes, poking at the salad and the grapes and the peaches. Until she picked up a piece of bread and dipped it until the pie's sauce. Just staring at that effort to sop up her mess.

Jay sighed and sat back in his chair. Watching her make the repeated motions.

"I don't think Voight thinks I know the first thing about relationships," he put flatly.

She gave him a glance. "You don't," she said. There wasn't an edge to it. It was just this complete statement of fact out of her mouth. "But I knew that. And I know why."

Jay just gazed at her. Because he knew why too. He knew he hadn't had enough relationships. He knew he hadn't had an example of what they looked like while he was growing up. He knew his whole perspective on them were kind of fucked up. And his interaction with them had always been lacking. That he was either closed off. Or he ran away. Whichever route it was, he'd always tried to ensure that he didn't let things get too far along. That he panicked when they did. He didn't know how to handle it. He wasn't even sure he wanted to handle them. Because he didn't know how.

But right now he did. He always had with Erin. Even if he'd fumbled around blindly for years. Even if he seemed to keep fucking it up.

"If I don't know anything about relationships, I know even less about being a husband," he said.

She shrugged. "Good thing you aren't one then."

"Erin …," he sighed.

She glanced at him. "You said you didn't want to get married. Now."

"Do you?" he pressed at her. "You think that's a good idea with where we are, how we are, right now? No. I don't think so. It's not like I've seen the engagement ring come back out since you've been home."

"Not after the wedding bands get grabbed away from me," she glared, "and condoms get suddenly added back to the equation."

And of course it had to be then that the waitress came back.

"How are we doing here?" she asked with an awkward smile.

"Fantastic," Jay muttered.

"Can I get you another drink?" she offered.

Erin gave her a patronizing smile. "Old fashioned," she dead-panned.

But the waitress just gave her another weak smile and turned to Jay. "And for you, sir?"

"Oh, I think that was her ordering for me," he said.

The waitress looked at Erin confused. "Two," was already she said that time. And the poor server managed a little nod and headed to get their drinks.

Jay glowered at her across the table. "You really think it's smart to be taking any chances right now?"

She shrugged. "Apparently you do," she said. "Because, if you didn't want to take any chances, Jay, we wouldn't have had sex, period."

Jay rubbed at his face and then stared out the window for a long beat. Though, now it was dark enough that all he could see was him frowning at himself and Erin's reflection glaring at him from across the table. He shook his head and looked back into her real eyes.

"You don't want to have sex this trip, fine," he shrugged. "You want to have sex without a condom? Fine. But first, for me to consider that, I want us to talk about this," he said and gestured between them. "Because I'm still trying to salvage this," he gestured again, "and I thought you wanted to too. But to do that we've got to have a real fucking talk about the future, Erin."

"I am talking about the future," she pressed. "I am quitting the FBI. I am coming home. And we'll … figure it out from there. After that."

"No," Jay pressed back. "Because that whole fucking situation isn't going to be any better, Erin. You're just going to be jumping out of the frying pan and into the fire. And I want us to have a real plan. I want us to talk about a timeline for how we're going to make this work. About what that's going to look like. And if that involves me getting those rings out of the drawer and us going back to March when we were fucking talking about trying to get pregnant, Erin – then we need to start looking at long-term management of the fucking mess we're in. Not just digging a bigger hole for us to get out of later."

"Jay," she hissed at him, "I need to come home. Now. To my family."

"Erin," he argued back, "what your family needs, what I need, what our future, our future family needs – is for you to get sorted. For stability. This is planning, Erin. All that organizational crap Hank's drilled into you. At home, at work. Now's the time to implement. Proper police planning, Erin. Call Cassidy. Or Benson. I don't fucking care. Get the details on this gig. And get yourself on a job track that you can be happy in. So us – your family – can be happy for you, happy around you. Not just now. Fucking … five, ten, fifteen years from now. Ethan doesn't just need you know. He needs you long-term. Me. If we're going to make a family – get married, have kids – it needs to be long-term, Erin."

She just stared. And stared.

Until Jay finally managed, "Please." Because that felt like all he had left. Maybe the only thing he hadn't done get. Ask her politely. Maybe that would mean something. Mean more than enough. So she'd understand. So that maybe they could make this work. It needed to.

 **AUTHOR NOTE: Your feedback, reviews and comments are appreciated.**


	26. Chapter 26

**Title: The Way From Here**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Erin must deal with the consequences of her decision to take a position in FBI counter-intelligence at the expense of her relationship with Jay and her relationship with her family. But an emergency with her younger brother provides her with the opportunity to re-examine her choices and to try to rectify any damages to her relationships. This story takes place in the AU established in Interesting Dynamics.**

 **SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers in this collection from Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas, Scenes, Aftermath and So It Goes (including chapters/scenes in So It Goes that have not yet been written or posted). This series also contains SPOILERS related to the finale of Season 4 of Chicago PD.**

Hank gave the television a little glance as he walked into the front room and set himself on the middle cushion of the couch – right next to Magoo. Usually Magoo claimed his spot – opposite end – on the couch. But looked like he was doing his best to see the boob-tube and sitting as close to it as possible. Freed up his spot but decided he'd do better being near his boy.

Allowed a little grunt as his ass sunk into the cushion, though. Wasn't often anyone's ass actually occupied that cushion. And he'd managed to sit on something. His noise earned him a little glance from E. But he just reached under his ass and then dug into the back crease of the cushion and shook his head as he pulled out a diecast. He showed it to E's questioning face.

"Your nephew thinks the couch is a expressway," he told his son flatly. Reached again behind himself again and dug two more of the damn things out of there.

Knew it wasn't Magoo leaving that mess. E knew better than to leave out the fucking die casts to get stepped on or sat on. Knew that if he did, got thrown into the desk drawer and he'd be doing extra chores to get them back. E didn't like that too much. Having anything missing out of his little – extensive – collections of cars and dinosaurs and baseball cards just drove him batty. His OCD got showing. But also meant that his youngest had learned pretty damn quick to pick up after himself most days.

Beyond that E's growing car fetish didn't include these fucking zany Hot Rods and Monster Trucks that H's eyes lit up at. These were just toys. E was all about the collectibles. Sorting and organizing. Budget and planning and researching his next purchase. His collection didn't end up on his front room floor for Henry to drive around creation. E's cast-offs from when he was little and from what he'd inherited from J's stockpile, Popa and Mommy spoiling H rotten impulse purchases for the ankle-biter were what got hidden away for him to still fucking step and sit on in fucking round three of little boys in his front room. Twenty-five years of them. On and off. Nearly half his life. Hard to believe. Hoping that it was going to end up being more like two-thirds or three-quarters of his life. Dealing with the teen-aged boys too. Not just the little ones.

E took the one car out of his hand and gazed at it. Turning it over and over. Like he was really trying to see it and feel it. Make sense of it.

"The dragon one?" he asked.

"Mmm …," Hank grunted and took it back from him, setting it with the other two on the table and working on retrieving what he'd originally brought into the front room for his boy. Ice cream.

Still going to try to act like it was the fucking cure all – or at least a foundational layer – for trying to start off the big talks with the kids. The kids that got the girl who'd be your daughter into the car to come home. The ones that told your kids there'd be a new baby in the house. And ones like now. Where you had to try to build up your kid some before he got really broken down.

E watched him work at popping the lid, peeling back the covering. Wasn't too sure that E could see or tell what he was doing. Or maybe he was just as shocked as he was that Erin hadn't gotten into it.

Her and cherry or strawberry ice cream. Couldn't manage to keep those in the freezer for more than a day when she was around. Still attacked them like she was a little girl and it was the most special treat ever. Maybe it was. Wasn't like ice cream came by cheap. Not the good stuff. And this was the upper layer of good stuff. Likely why she'd restrained herself.

Was for Magoo. Keep working at getting food into him. Keeping him nourished and hydrated. Making sure him and his body didn't forget how to eat and process food. With way he was feeling still taking some prompting. Bribing. But Hank didn't much care. Right now if all his kid would eat was smoothies, blueberry pie, banana pancakes, watermelon, ice cream and almond butter by the spoonful – that's what he was going to feed him.

"He likes such weird ones," E muttered.

"Mmm," Hank grunted again and sat back in the couch, handing his boy a spoon and nudging the pint at him. "He's a little guy. Like what they like at that age."

E looked at the ice cream a little speculatively. Might be because he still wasn't seeing it well enough to be too sure what it was. But also knew it wasn't often that he let the kid eat in the front room. Probably about the first time he was letting him get away with eating anything right out of the container – bypassing the plates like civilized people.

So he set the example. Grabbed the other spoon and took his own scope out. Put it in his mouth and let it melt there while wagging it at Eth again. Kid smiled a bit at that and tremored a bit but managed to dig out a spoonful, putting it in his mouth too.

Hank took his own few more spoonfuls while he ensured E was actually going to eat the stuff. But then relinquished the pint over to the kid. Let him hold it and dig in. Let himself pull his boy a little bit tighter to him. Feel him there and relaxed and still breathing against his chest while they stared at the television. While E chowed down slow and steady.

"How the Cubbies doing tonight?" he asked, pressing a brief kiss into the top of E's head. Right at the crown. Swore that with the sparse hair – verging on balding – situation Magoo had right now could smell the baby in him again right at that spot. But not just that. Wifts of Cami were in there too. Just like everything else about his damn kids.

Question wasn't about how the Cubs were doing, though. Could see the score. Was looking at the game. Just was trying to get his own gauge on exactly what Magoo was seeing. And, if he wasn't seeing it, how much he was managing to hear and process and absorb. Knew learning to check in that way was something he was going to have to do to keep facilitating his son's learning process and education while they tried to recover from this. While they tried to carve out a future for him. Managed the life he'd been given.

"Bad," E grumbled around the spoon. But didn't rip into him about manners and talking with his mouthful. Also was having to work on learning that there were certain things that just weren't worth busting your kids' balls about. Not anymore. "They're losing and they're only playing the Marlins."

"Mmm …," Hank grunted again and rested his chin against his boy's head again. Still catching wafts of the past right there. "Still early in the season. Lots of time to bounce back from some shit series."

Magoo made a little sound. Slight amusement. And gazed up at him. Tossing Cami at his senses again. But looked by that to take a real good look at E's eyes instead. Do another assessment of how focused they looked. Hard to tell. But they weren't as dilated as they had been. And there was some life in them again. A bit of a spark somewhere at the back of them. That counted for something.

Counted too because Hank could read the look and knew that E was making his own assessment on whether to call him out on his language choice. Home again. Could implement the swear jar some. But for Hank, right now, it was on the list of things he just didn't give a fuck about. More small stuff in the grand scheme of things. Thought him and Magoo had a whole lot of right and leeway to be dropping some fucking f-bombs about the shit they'd been dealt. Life might not be fair. Maybe life only handed you as much as you could handle. Not sure he believed that – beyond that you were forced to figure out how to dig through crap pile you'd ended up with. But some days anymore, without sounding too much like a whiney ingrate pussy, Hank really wished life could work a bit on spreading some of its fucking bullshit around some. Rather than having that heaping pile that had ended up in his backyard. Just needed to focus on the decent things – good things, best things in his life – that had managed to grow out of that manure.

"Cubs play on the Fourth," was what E told him carefully, though. "Tampa. There's going to be fireworks and stuff."

Hank allowed a little grunt again but just tapped at E's spoon, urging him to get a few more calories and a little more fat into him. Kid's wide lost but hopeful eyes stayed on him a beat more. But then drifted back to the food. Giving up on the proposition.

Hank knew full well that the Cubs were home for Independence Day that year. Knew that in itself would make it a show. Add in all this Warrior Games pomp and ceremony, tourists and the start of summer with the boys of summer – it'd be a show. Knew it'd be enough of a show – the kind his own boy of summer lived for. Baseball and fireworks. Couldn't go wrong with that with Magoo. So much so that he'd long ago actually booked a fucking couple days of furlough for the long weekend. Made sure he wouldn't be doing any fill in as active supervisor or duty officer that year. And got the tickets.

Hadn't been able to afford or justify getting E a Cub Pack again. Not that year. Maybe another. But would still take him to a game or two over the season. Not that having an afternoon at the ballpark of the World Series Champs was going to be very affordable or accessible that season. But the past year had taught him a lot more about making the time and taking the time with your kids while it was there.

Fourth of July game was supposed to be his grad gift. Right now he wasn't too sure if he'd be handing them to Magoo on Tuesday or he'd be handing them off to someone else. Have to see how the kid was doing the next few days. Keep gauging what he'd be able to handle. And do some management of expectations for the kid about just what he could handle. Though, Hank thought E had gotten a bit of a taste of it that day. Was still getting treatment. Wasn't entirely out of the woods. And it was going to take a while for him to bounce back. Even when he did, wasn't going to ever be the same. Sitting on a bench had knocked him on his ass that day. Wasn't sure that in a week and a half, E'd be in a position he'd be ready to take him up to the North Side to deal with crowds and sun and heat and noise – at an event he'd likely only be able to see so much of. Or any of. Not that Hank cared so much about that. Take the kid a radio and let him listen in if they had to. Depending on how he was doing. Depending on if he thought even going out for a couple innings would manage to keep that little spark going – and growing – in Eth's eyes.

"Olive and H are going to come over in the morning," Hank told his son. "Just got off the horn with her."

"And Erin?" E asked. Could tell his he was struggling a bit with digging out a cherry. But let him work on that too. On his own. Strength and coordination. And showing his damn sister's habits too. More nature versus nurture there. More reason they couldn't have fucking ice cream in the house that had any fucking mix-ins in it. Kids just dug that shit out and left the vanilla ice cream to get freezer-burn.

"Think the pan is she's going to meet us over at Med in the afternoon," Hank said. "Sure, she'll let us know if there's a change."

"She's leaving on Wednesday," E muttered, shoving that cherry in his mouth now.

"Mmm," Hank acknowledged. "She's still on assignment, Magoo. Just got a pass to come home and help us out for a few days."

"She didn't tell us there was a change in plans when she left and stopped calling and stuff," he said.

Hank let out a breath. "Well, E … she got herself into a bit of a situation. So she's just been trying to do her job. Guess we're going to have to wait and see how she gets everything sorted out."

E twisted against him and looked up again. Looked like there was more focus that time. "So you think she'll come home for real soon?"

"I think your sister is an adult and has got to figure out what she wants and how to get it," Hank nodded at him.

E sighed and went back to looking at the ice cream. Didn't look so interested in it anymore.

"I miss her lots, Dad," he said quietly.

"I know," Hank acknowledged. "Me too."

"It's super weird her not being here. And it's going to be even weirder if she goes again."

Hank gripped at his boy's head a bit. A bit of a forehead hold. "E, got to trust that Erin knows that in this family we keep going even when the wheels are coming off. That she's going to figure out a way to right the bus."

E just flopped his head against Hank's shoulder. A little weakly. "But she's missing everything."

"I know, Ethan. But, you know what? She knows too. She's getting a real wake up call on that right now. On a whole lot of levels. So we've got to let her work on getting that sorted. Unfortunately, E, even though life can flip you upside down in an instant, lot of times flipping that switch back can be a real rewiring project. We need to give her some time. Trust her."

"When she just left?" E whispered.

Hank sighed and reached to slide the melting ice cream out of his hand and set it on the table. Shifted his boy a bit in his grip so they could actually look at each other right-way-up. For as much as E could see him. Maybe he couldn't see him. But knew E knew he was there. And with the way thing were right now – that's what his son really needed. To know people were there. That they had his back. When you got down to it – that's what he needed out of Erin right now too. And a few day visit wasn't going to accomplish that. Sure as fuck wasn't going to do much of anything if she didn't manage to get herself sorted – and get her head on straight – about a way to manage herself and her situation and give some honor and respect to the people who depended on her. Needed her.

"E, look, I know some of my biggest regrets as a father and a man – a husband – are the times I took my eyes off my family. Off you kids. Off your mom. That I wasn't around – or available enough – to see things the way I should've. Didn't nip some things in the bud. Erin's been a victim of my oversight too. I've done her some disservices too. Just like I've done to you. And your brother. And your mom. But right now Erin's getting some first-hand insight on being the one who took her eyes off her family. Getting some first-hand experience on just how quickly everything can change and how much that can hurt you and those around you. And I'm going to keep hoping that since she'd been on the receiving end before – since she's seen my mistakes – she's realizing real quick that she made a mistake. And she's going to get her ass back up that path she went on lickety-split and get back on the right track. With all of us. With herself too."

E's eyes glistened a bit at that. "But what's gonna happen if she doesn't come back? When you have to go back to work? And I don't get better than this?"

Hank shook his head at him. "One, Ethan, things are going to get better for you than they are right now. Know they aren't going to be the same as before and it's going to be hard and a learning curve for all of us – but you're going to see improvement. Okay?" His kid's lower lip just trembled at that and Hank pressed another kiss against his forehead and started rubbing his boy's earlobe between his thumb and forefinger. "And, two, E, I'm not going back to work just yet."

"But you will," E trembled. "Now that I'm outta the hospital."

Hank shook his head again. "No," he pressed more firmly. "I've got furlough, lots of banked time. I put in my paperwork to take some leave to see you through this. So all you've got to be worrying about is prioritizing all those plans you've got for summer. Pick out which ones we're going to get up to."

"Bridge …," E said weakly. "I missed the orientation days."

Hank nodded. "And I'm talking to Field. Talking to that guy, your Ma's friend – Kevin. And we're working on figuring out if there's some other way for you to get those training hours in. Or if maybe we can get a place held for you in next summer's Bridge group. Okay?"

E's lip trembled a bit more and Hank just worked at rubbing his earlobe even more. He weighed if he should get another one of E's anxiety pills – or a sleeping pill – into him. To keep him calm. There was a problem with E being out of the hospital. Definitely wasn't as sedated. Not nearly as much of the disoriented zombie he'd been sitting next to for the past ten days. And it meant his son was starting to process some of what was going on around him and what the coming weeks and months held in a whole different way. And it was a lot for a sick kid to wrap his head around. To keep calm about. To keep his head on straight. So his job as his father – who'd let him come home, who'd got them the hell out of that disinfected bubble they'd been living in – was to keep him sorted. Level. Stable. Would prefer to do it without drugs. But if he couldn't – he'd still push them at E rather than having to take him back to the fucking pediatric neurology ward.

"What about summer school?" E sputtered.

Hank shook his head. "Not doing summer school, Ethan," he provided.

"So I don't get to go to high school?" he asked and a tear trickled that time. Hank reached and wiped it for him.

"You're going to high school," he assured. "Don't need to worry about that either."

"At Iggy's?" E sputtered harder and another tear came down.

Hank held his son a bit tighter at that. Drew him to him. Could feel him trembling now.

"Still working on sorting that out, Ethan," he said. "Will need to see how you're doing and how your vision is doing. But all that. It's something we'll talk about some in a week or so when you're doing a bit better. You're going to have a whole lot of say in that, okay?" His kid nodded but barely. "And with us being home now, things maybe not feeling quite as fuzzy and coming back a bit – you got anything you want to talk to me about, we're going to talk. You're going to talk to me, okay?" That got another small nod and Hank again rested his head against his son's. "We're going to get into the therapist too. The both of us. About all this. Can make you an appointment with Pelican too, if you think maybe you want some privacy to dig into some of this stuff with someone that isn't me."

Held his boy for a while. It didn't feel like enough. But he was really coming to learn that with kids – didn't really matter what you did, was never going to feel like quite enough. No matter how much you tried or much more you gave. Or how much you forced yourself to accept there were certain things you just couldn't fix. None of that ever seemed to make things better or easier. Just seemed to highlight your failings more and more. Made you feel like if you couldn't help or protect your family – your kids – who were you really helping or protecting? And was doing that job adding to the fact you weren't helping and protecting the family the way you should be? Was it just adding to your fucking failure?

Wasn't too sure how much his career had helped or protected Chicago either. Especially these days. For all he'd given and all the sacrifices he'd made. All the ones his family – his wife and kids – had made. And now CPD and the fucking Ivory Tower were just throwing new hoops at him. Ordering him to jump through them. Just laying out a whole different obstacle course. Wasn't about to run away from it. Couldn't. For a whole lot of reasons. But right now – he'd stick to the sidelines. He'd wait. For his moment. For the right time. Only way he'd survive any of this. Only way he'd find the break in the onslaught to pull his family – what was left of it, his son – over to the other side.

"Thinking that if you're feeling up to it in the A.M., go for a bit of a walk with H. Check out the penny toy shop. Get a few more die casts for him to stuff between the cushions." He felt E smile a little against him at that. "Maybe could manage one or two for you too," he offered.

"Maybe," E allowed.

"May be time for the Hobby Shark in that walk too," Hank said and squeezed his shoulder.

He felt E smile a little again and he rubbed at his bicep a bit more. A bit more roughly too. Let him feel he was there too. Transfer some roughness – some strength – to his already strong kid. His personal little bulldog.

"I can't really see the baseball cards," E muttered, though.

"Mmm," Hank acknowledged but gazed down at him. "Been sort of thinking your eyes might be working a bit better the past day or two. Erin said something about it too."

E shrugged a little. "I can sorta see. Maybe sorta better. But it's all really blurry. And … it like … like feels like I'm in a tunnel. Or looking through a telescope or something. Like it's all dark and then there's this real blurry spot that's brighter?"

"Mmm …," Hank grunted and leaned forward a bit to bat at the snout of the damn mutt who'd either just realized the ice cream was working at melting on the table or had thought they were distracted enough he wasn't about to see that he'd sulked across the room to stick his face right up on the damn coffee table.

And maybe E's vision wasn't that great – at least at that point in the night – because normally he'd act like Bear was so hard-done-by when he so much as raised his voice at the dog, let alone gave him a good tap on the schnoz.

But he settled back as the dog gave him a real pathetic look – but laid himself out on the floor next to the table, like maybe Hank would give him a taste when he finally did get up to put the pint back in the freezer. Held the kid tight again. Let them both pretend to watch the Cubs for a few more minutes.

"Talked to the neuro-ophthalmologist a bit about your eyes while you were passed out at Med this afternoon," he offered up. E made a quiet sound of acknowledgement but kept his eyes still set on the TV.

Hank squeezed E's shoulder a bit more and the kid glanced at him. "Talked a bit about some options with the out-patient route given the progression."

E rolled his head against his shoulder. "Daddy, I don't want to talk 'bout any of that. I just want to be home. No more treatment stuff."

"Mmm …," Hank acknowledged. "Don't need to talk tonight. But want you to listen just a bit. And want you to work at thinking about it and processing it all the next few days. Then we can talk about it down the road."

E sighed heavily at him and pulled away. Sitting more upright and off in the corner of the couch again. Not moving himself but trying to be as far away form him as possible. Snapping his fingers until Bear got up and shoved his heavy head in the kid's lap.

"Doc told me in some of the blood work they ran on you while we were in Med it showed up that you've got this virus in your system," Hank smacked at him gently.

E moved his squinted eyes away from the dog to him. "Like I've got the flu too?"

"Not really," Hank said. "It's actually a virus they're still learning about."

E sighed and went back to his mutt. "Great. So now I've got two things they don't know anything about."

Hank grunted. "They're actually starting to thinking that this virus might be part of the how and why people end up with M.S."

E skewed up his face at that. "I thought they thought I've got M.S. because of how bad my head got hit."

Hank shrugged. "Maybe. Might be a big part of it," he said. "But the way the doc was explaining it to me, they're starting to think that this particular virus that's in you – it's something you might end up with years before. But then for people who get M.S., at some point something happens to them or their bodies … an infection, a trauma, a whole lot of inflammation … and that causes this virus to activate. So start attacking the neurological system in a way that all those white lesions we're seeing in your brain and your spine … they start to grow. The lucky ones, who've got the diagnosis of M.S. – they're able to get in front of docs to take meds and get treatment to sort of stop it. But when when something happens again – you get a cold or a flu or real rundown – it creates this inflammatory reaction in your body again. That this virus reactivates again. And that's why we see flares and exacerbations with the M.S.. And when it's a real bad one – if that virus isn't fought down and turned off a bit again – then that's when we start to see the disease progressing."

E lulled his head against the back of the couch. Could tell he was trying to process and consider that. But it was a lot to dump on anyone. Especially right now with the state E was in. But still – had to give the kid credit for at least taking some pause.

"But can't they like just kill viruses with antibiotics or whatever?" E asked.

Hank shook his head. "Not viruses," he said. "But there's these other meds called antivirals that sometimes can be really good a keeping the virus in check. Stop it from spawning more in our body."

E sighed. "Dad, it sounds like another trial. And they don't know what they're talking about."

Hank nudged a bit closer to him on the couch and rested his hand on his head, his thumb against his forehead.

"Not a trial, Magoo," he said. "Just be another medication that we'd add to what you're taking at home. Already agreed you're going to keep up with your M.S. meds and injections. This would just be one more. That's all. They'd just have to give it to us off-label."

"What's that mean?" E squinted at him.

Hank stroked his thumb down his forehead. "Means that usually they give this drug to people dealing with something else."

"What else?" E asked. Cami's eyes right there again. The demand. And the scientist – the biologist – behind it. The type of mind who'd understand all this better than he did. Who'd likely figure out the best route and best option faster than he could.

But Hank kept looking right in his eyes. "Usually give it to people who have AIDS."

E's face skewed up even more. "I don't have that. I haven't even had sex."

Hank gave him a weak smile and kept his thumb planted on his forehead. "Sometimes people with AIDS have this extra virus in their system too, though. Just like they're starting to see a whole lot of people with M.S. seem to have this virus in them."

E's scared eyes darted at that. They looked more dilated. And Hank again adjusted.

"So someone gave me the virus?" E sputtered. "Gave me M.S.? Was it Holly?"

Hank held him. "Why would you think Holly gave you a virus, Magoo?"

He looked at him more panicked. "I only kissed her. Barely. But now she's all gross with guys. And everyone."

Hank shook his head and brought E closer to him. "I don't think you got it from Holly." Truth was they didn't really know how it spread. Though some speculation seemed to be it was through salvia. But even then – E definitely had the thing long before he would've locked lips with the girl next door. If any of the medical community's research actually played out as true in the end.

"Can I give it to people?" E pressed out.

"Don't know for sure how people get it, E," Hank said. "But you've likely had it a long time. Maybe even since you were a baby. Maybe even picked it up when we had to have you in NICU right when you were born. They definitely aren't thinking it's a sexually transmitted disease. Wouldn't be, E. They're seeing it in kids with M.S., just like you."

E lay still against him again. A long time. And Hank let him. Hank held him. Tried to give them both some time and space to process and calm.

"If I do the medicine does it get rid of the M.S. too?" E finally asked.

"No," Hank shook his head and found his boy's eyes, as blurry as that line of sight might be. "But the people with AIDS you've got this virus, they have condition with their retinas that fucks up their vision just like the optic neuritis in people who've got M.S. Just like what we're trying to get you to bounce back from now. And they've found this antiviral, seems to really help. Stops what the virus is up to in its tracks a bit. Slows things down. Gives your body and eyes some chance to deal with the inflammation. Recover. And, E, with your progressive diagnosis, that's something we want and need. You want to have quality of life. This could help us make sure you've got that. As your father, I'm telling you that I really think this is something we should be looking at. Giving it some real consideration. And I'd really like for you to agree to give it a try."

E buried his forehead against his shoulder. "Would it mean I have to go back to the hospital?"

Hank rubbed his back. "No," he said. "Hopefully not. But would mean for the docs to agree to give it to us, you're going to have to agree to go ahead with the immunoglobulin therapy. Because that's going to help your immune system really get into its best place to fight down the inflammation when we've got this med in your system working at stopping the virus in its tracks."

"IGIV makes me sick," E whispered. "I've had to be in the hospital for it before."

Hank held him tight. "Know that," he said. "But would just be a couple days this time. And doc told me we could look at getting the first two IVs scheduled so we go in at night. Just there twenty-four hours. A bit of a sleepover, home in bed by dinner the next day."

E stayed against him. Didn't move. If Hank couldn't feel his breathing from where he had his hand on his back, might be more concerned. Though, these days he wasn't sure how much more concerned he could muster. His alert level was in a hypersensitive state at this point. A whole lot of juggling going on. Attention being pulled in multiple directions. Messes needing mopped up. And he could only do so much.

"How long would I have to take the AIDS medicine?" he whispered.

"Antiviral medicine," Hank pressed back gently. "Likely the rest of your life. We'd have to see how it goes. How your body does. What the doctors think."

The quiet and the stillness set in again. For another long time. Longer than Hank could handle. Because anymore that quiet seemed to just fill an eternity. Made him think about an eternity in his future that was going to be all too quiet. If his little boy was gone. With his older boy gone. With his wife gone.

"Will you think about it some?" Hank pressed against his boy's head. "For me?"

"I guess," E muttered.

He nodded. "Thank you."

Though, he knew – he had to know, he was the adult, the father – that he'd only give his son so much time to process and think about this. That there was really only so much of a variation on an agreement that his son would be allowed to have in this. Because you had to fight for your kids. You had to make some of the hard decisions for them. And maybe he had to make some concessions. Maybe he had to listen a bit better to Ethan's wants and needs. Maybe he had to accept that he didn't always know best. But he also had to … keep learning how to be a father in … a fucking impossible situation. And sometimes it was fucking hard to teach and old dog new tricks. Sometimes he didn't fucking know how to run away from a problem. He didn't. He just waited until he saw another way to fix it. And he fought for that solution. He'd do that now. He had to. It was about all he had left.

But then his little boy – his not so little boy – decided to throw him another loop. Side-swipe him again.

"I'm glad you let me come home, Dad," he whispered. "I like being home. I'm glad you made them let me."

"You needed to be home," Hank allowed. "You were right. It was time to get you home."

E nodded against him. This slow up and down movement against his chest. "So maybe I'd do it," he whispered at near silent levels. "Go back into the hospital and take the medicine, if Erin comes home. 'Cuz I don't want you to have to be all alone and sad while I'm sick, Dad. Or if there's an after."

And Hank just set his nose against that spot on his head again. Set it there. And tried to smell and feel and remember the so many parts of his life and himself and his family that had come together in his kid. This person that was what he had left. And this person that had become both this anchor and oar in keeping him on track – but not flying too far off the leash in the process. This fucking kid that kept having all these little moments that just brought his life – past and present … and a future that he both did and didn't want to think about – into focus. A kind of focus that maybe the kid might never truly get to know again – not in vision, but still seemed to in mind. No matter what those animals had done to his kid's brain. What stranger they'd handed him. The stranger he'd needed – when he hadn't fucking known it. Life kept doing that to him too. Cami. Erin. Ethan. Even Justin as that little squawking baby he'd brought home. Olive – working up the courage to tell him she was carrying his grandson.

"We'll talk to your sister," Hank said. Because that was something he could manage to. Though, he didn't know it was right. Or that it'd work the way E wanted. Because she had her own moving parts. She had her own situation to sort out. And her own future to look at. But he did know he wanted – he needed – her to make sure at least her baby brother was a part of it.

"And maybe if you take me to the Jurassic World Exhibit again," E said.

Hank let out a small guffaw at that. And shifted from his nose to his cheek resting on E's head. "Can handle that, Magoo," he said. "We'll put it in the calendar."

"And this time you don't have to act like you don't know anything about them and don't like them," E added.

Hank smiled weakly. "Okay," he allowed.

"And you can buy me a dinosaur there—"

"Getting a little demanding there, Magoo," he rasped.

But E ignored the interruption. "And not act like it was Mom who bought all my dinosaurs," he said and looked up at Hank.

Hank gave him a little nod. A weak smile. "I'll do one better," he said. "Head out to Evanston and show you were I tracked down the things. Before Amazon."

"You don't use Amazon," E muttered.

Hank brushed at the kid's forehead. "Don't," he agreed. "Support your community anyway you can, right?"

E nodded and settled back against him. "Family's community too, Dad. Tell Erin that."

And he frowned slightly but nodded. "Will."

Because that was about all he could do. Though, he thought she knew. He hoped she did. Hoped she got it. Hoped she could get sort it. Because there was a whole lot riding on it.

 **AUTHOR NOTE: Your feedback, reviews and comments are appreciated.**

 **There was a chapter added yesterday as well.**


	27. Chapter 27

**Title: The Way From Here**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Erin must deal with the consequences of her decision to take a position in FBI counter-intelligence at the expense of her relationship with Jay and her relationship with her family. But an emergency with her younger brother provides her with the opportunity to re-examine her choices and to try to rectify any damages to her relationships. This story takes place in the AU established in Interesting Dynamics.**

 **SPOILER ALERT: There are MAJOR spoilers in this collection from Interesting Dynamics, So This is Christmas, Scenes, Aftermath and So It Goes (including chapters/scenes in So It Goes that have not yet been written or posted). This series also contains SPOILERS related to the finale of Season 4 of Chicago PD.**

Erin leaned against the kitchen counter and stared at her phone. Or the burner phone. This unfamiliar piece of technology attached to her hand while she was trying so hard to make the place she was in feel familiar again. When she knew it wasn't. Or at least not the way it had been. That much was clear. There was truth to the statement that you can never go home again. Not after certain decisions. Certain losses. It's not the same place.

But she was trying anyway.

It was just hard. She sort of felt like if she stared at the phone long enough that maybe it would ring. Or maybe better - she could make the call she'd made on it somehow feel right. But it hadn't. It felt off and strained.

Lieutenant Benson had sounded so by-the-book when she picked up. And Erin should've expected that. She had called the work number she had. The take-home phone. It made sense she would've expected a work call when she was answering.

And maybe Erin knew she should've tried a little harder. She should've made some inquiries to try to get a personal number for Benson. Because she knew she had that number somewhere. She knew it'd been given to her. That she'd been supposed to call if she ever needed something. Or more … if she'd needed someone to talk to.

But it was another call Erin had never made. Not a shoulder she'd ever leaned on. Another person she'd never felt right about asking for help. Or depending on. Because she just didn't like feeling that way about anyone. Even though she knew she did. She knew that her life had lead her to a point where she depended on Hank. That she depended on Jay. And she was learning in a way she'd let herself be so full of anger and betrayal six weeks ago that she'd been blind to that. She'd made herself not believe it. And she'd even more made herself blind to the fact that Hank – and Jay – they depended on her. But maybe she just didn't want to be depended on. That way. It was too much to ask. Because she always screwed that up. She always let her bad news life turn the lives of those around her into the same headline shitstorm. So it was easier just not to depend on anyone. To try to not let anyone see her weaknesses or needs. Especially as a woman. As a cop. As a detective. And maybe even more especially another female cop. Because … sometimes other women could end up being your worse enemies rather than your best advocates. Sometimes it felt like they were all just Mean Girls no matter how far outside of high school they ever really got.

So she likely should've avoided that call to Benson entirely. Even though she could remember what Benson had told her. After Nadia. After Yates. When she'd reached out and tried to connect. But Erin hadn't known how to handle that then. She hadn't wanted to try to relate to another person – another woman. To try to share or inter-relate their experiences. Or their lives. Even if Benson got that sometimes you dealt with people that tried to get so far into your head – their victim's heads - that it ruined them. That they couldn't live their lives that they planned. Only that wasn't just Yates for her. It was Bunny.

She was Bunny's victim. Over and over. And maybe in those moments – those weeks and months and years … and days … of hanging in the wind she'd started to think … to believe … that maybe she was Hank's too. Maybe she was Jay's. A victim of their decisions and their control and what she let them do to her life. And maybe it'd taken all this for her to see that it wasn't them. It was Bunny. It'd always been Bunny. Even if she was her mother. Even if Erin couldn't completely shut her out – because she was her mother. But Bunny knew how to get in her head. How to manipulate her. To derail her life – the life she'd planned for herself, the life Hank had helped her make for herself, the life that Jay was trying to make with her – every step of the way. For years. Since she was a child. Since she was a teen. Since her twenties. Since she disappeared and came back over and over again.

And with Yates she'd been relieved she'd been the one who killed him. That she got her revenge. That in that moment she'd become Hank too. But it hadn't bit her in the ass then. Not that she regret what she did to Pettigrew either. She'd done her job. She'd gotten the information they needed. She located that boy. But that moment … it had contributed to all of this. And she regretted that. She couldn't find relief in that. A moment in a series of moments that she'd made a mess of everything. And just like with Nadia … with Yates … with Camille … with Justin … with Hank and that body in the ground … it didn't mean she'd sleep that night. It more likely meant that just like the past six weeks had proven, she wasn't likely to ever sleep quite right ever again.

And Benson hadn't been able to give her a solution to any of that then. A situation that somehow seemed simpler than this. Cleaner. Less messy. So Erin didn't know how anyone expected her to give any sort of solution – to be that call-a-life-line – now.

But she'd made the call anyway. To appease Hank. To appease Jay even more. To stop the fight that had been brewing between them. And the sulk that had started. The one that she knew another ultimatum was lurking under. That they were going back-and-forth in taking turns in expressing their anger and frustration with each other. With throwing down their ultimatums and just layering on additional clauses. This was Jay's latest. One that she didn't think she agreed with. That she wasn't sure she completely understood. That she could accept.

But she was going through the motions. To do that, though, she should've cut Benson out of the picture. She should've just kept it simple. She should've just gone straight to Brian Cassidy's mouth rather than getting Benson to play the middle man to get his number. To try to feel out what exactly it was that he did now. What he was working on. If anything Stone was saying carried real weight. How much she should listen to Hank. How much she should let Jay pushed her in that direction. Despite the silently, clear ultimatum that had derailed dinner.

But how could any of this make any kind of fucking sense for with what was going on with Ethan. For her ever getting home to Chicago. To her little brother. To Jay. To the life she'd walked away from. And was hating herself for. All because of some fucking split decisions. Ones that she already knew were ill-advised. That reality just seemed to be pounding her into the ground more and more. Making it so hard to pull herself out of the hole. It was fucking quicksand at this point. And she was trying to remember exactly how it was you were supposed to escape that. Jay would know. There had to be some sort of PBS or NPR or Discovery channel documentary on that. But she wasn't about to ask him for advice on that matter right now. She couldn't.

The whole call had been awkward. From Benson's surprise it was her. Surprised to the point that it was clear it took her a moment to realize who it was. More awkward when Benson felt like she had to express some sort of apology for not being in touch more since Justin had died. Even though she'd sent flowers and condolences to the family and the District and the funeral. And that had been awkward enough at the time. It'd been too much. And it'd likely gone unacknowledged. Because Hank … Maybe Olive dealt with it. Thank you cards for the condolences and flowers and donations that had come in. The latest spectacle that made up the Voight family. But maybe she hadn't. And Erin hadn't. And Erin wasn't sure Hank would. Because she knew how he felt about flowers. After his father. After Camille. And now Justin.

It wasn't … they just didn't need a person they'd only worked with a handful of times calling to check in on them. Though, Erin got the sense that was the kind of person – or the kind of pressure – Benson put on herself. Because she was a decent human being.

And maybe Erin understood. Maybe she wanted to believe under all her mistakes and fuck-ups and string of bad news she was actually a decent human being too. Maybe she could at least pretend that was evident in her drawer of files and contacts on her phone of victims that she still reached out to to see how they were coping. And ones she thought of and wondered about long after the case was closed and the trial was done. But she also knew that even if she thought of them so many of them just wanted to forget that they'd ever encountered her as a CPD detective who worked on their case. They didn't want to hear from her. And she understood that too.

And, it always still kind of felt like that with Justin. A year later when people still offered their condolences. When they still asked how the family was doing. How she was doing and how Hank was doing and how Ethan was doing. How Olive and Henry were doing.

And she never knew what people expected her to say. So she always just said, "They're okay. They're coping." And somehow that sort of felt like a lie. And not necessarily a white one.

And it still got awkwarder. Because Benson had directly asked about Ethan. And Erin didn't know how much Benson knew about Eth being sick. She doubted Hank would've ever gone into much detail. He didn't with anyone. Even Erin had to fight with him to get the right of being kept abreast of her brother's condition. Before. Now … she didn't know where they were. But she did know it was going to be another fight. That she was going to have to earn his trust again. Just like on other occasions. But she'd have to earn it with Ethan too. Because he wasn't seven now. He wasn't eleven or twelve now. He was fourteen. He had thoughts and opinions and wants and needs about his health care that he was verbally expressing and Hank was forcing himself to hear and listen to. He was giving Ethan some control. And that meant if Ethan didn't want her to know or be involved – yet … ever again … - she wasn't sure how much Hank would tell her.

Because he didn't tell anyone much of anything. Beyond maybe Olinsky and Platt, she doubted anyone knew many details beyond past documented history and rumor mills. Or Hank divulging, at the most, that Eth had M.S. And leaving it at that. He wouldn't ever go so far to clarify it as multiple sclerosis for the medically-dense. Because, pretty much, it was no one's damn business.

But it'd also become such a thing they'd had to expose as a family. In a family that didn't like exposure. And even more backward when they were trying to educate Eth – or they had been – on when and how to reveal the extent of his disability. To not see it as a disability but to see it as just a fact of life he had to cope with. A way he had to live. But they were so a family that didn't talk. That didn't share. Despite Hank saying they delved into the good, bad and ugly – they excelled at being closed off. Need to know basis.

So Erin wasn't even if Benson knew that much. If she knew much of anything about her baby brother beyond what she could've visually assessed in their previous brief encounters. And even though Erin did know that Eth was at least visibly maimed and crippled to most people that looked at him, she didn't really want to go into details about the current situation.

Another fucking juxtaposition, because part of her knew that if it got the point that she was interested in the New York gig – if it seemed like an option or the only option, and she had to fight for it – she might have to use Eth as ammunition. As an explanation. And a promise. As reason. Why she'd be there. Why she'd work her ass off – more than she did anyway. And she fucking hated that too. Her brother wasn't a chess piece. He wasn't some negotiation tool. And him being sick shouldn't need to be the explanation for why she needed a job that set her up to get back to Chicago ASAP.

So she'd lied again. She just said he was graduating Tuesday night. Which wasn't a lie. It was just purposely leaving out a whole lot of detail. Which she knew for police was just as good as lying. It looked just as bad. But she didn't know what to say in this small talk.

Just like she'd sputtered a bit more – talked in some circles – when Benson had asked about the job and if Intelligence was teaming up with some other cross-jurisdictional case that had them coming to New York City. And she'd had to say that she wasn't with Intelligence anymore. And Benson had been verbally surprised. Even more … mildly shocked when Erin divulged she was technically based in New York City – even though she hadn't been there for more than a month.

And that had just lead to more awkwardness. More examples of how she might excel at U.C. – making up stories and details and keeping them straight – but applying them in real life and in networking and maintaining relationships wasn't something she did. She didn't know how to talk to people in real life. Or whatever their real lives where. Which still never seemed to quite align with her experiences.

Benson had tried with niceties again. Indicating that she should've called. That she could've directed her toward housing options and showed her around the city a bit. Or at least had her over for dinner. Erin supposed her initial reaction to that might've been a little off. Because the offer shifted to her oldest son – Jack – doing it. Which was sort of laughable, as Erin wasn't sure how she would tolerate spending time with a kid in his twenties. A college kid. A New York City college kid.

She'd back pedalled, though. And indicated she hadn't had much time for anything social. That she'd had to dive head first into an assignment that she wasn't in a position to go into details about. At least the cop mentality was enough that Benson left that. She took it at face value. Apparently. Or at least in that conversation. Though, Erin knew it would've raised questions and only raised more when she shifted the talk to if she could get Brian Cassidy's number. Or if he was around. If she could speak to him.

Almost thankfully – he wasn't. Because Erin wasn't sure she was ready to have that conversation. As much as she felt she had to make the call. For her and Jay to end off this trip in anything resembling level – for them to leave each other with a foundation they could still work with even if it was still somewhat cracked - she had to make the call. She had to look like she was considering this gig.

She had to do like Hank said – she knew it as much as she hated it – and make Jay feel like he was being heard. Because she hadn't listened to him before. She hadn't engaged him in a conversation before. She'd shut him down and shut him out. And it wasn't the first time she had – nor was it something that he was unfamiliar with doing himself. And she knew what that route had done to her relationship. She could see it and feel it.

And like Jay said – there was a lot to work ahead to salvage it. And she wasn't used to being 'that girl'. The one who waited on the guy – hand and foot. And his issues and emotions. And opinions. About her life. Her career. Though, she also knew she was willing to give Jay some leeway in that. Because he was different. Because their relationship was different. She knew that too. She felt that.

But she was struggling to rectify how staying in New York – right now – really solved anything. Not for her family. Not for her relationship. And she wasn't even sure she could see what it was going to do for her career – not in any sort of timely manner. Or at least in a way that would get her back to Chicago in a timely manner. And, before maybe she needed a break from Chicago.

Maybe she'd had that conversation with Annie cry back at her from January saying that maybe it'd be when she finally got out of the city – really and truly away from Bunny – that she'd be able to get her life together.

But she hadn't felt that could be her truth back in January. And then in May she'd basically let Bunny make the decision for her. She'd let that happen. And somewhere in her mind it'd made perfect sense at the time. Absolute sense.

But with time and space she was realizing that that knee-jerk reaction hadn't been about … anything right.

It'd been about her own anger … at Hank and at Jay. About conversations and lack of conversations they'd had. About stances they'd taken that she hadn't wanted to agree with and really didn't want to listen to. About how they felt about Bunny. About how they tried to dictate her life. Or career. About her starting her career as Hank's girl only to become him and to let her career with CPD slip away. It was about Jay trying to tell her more and more about what he thought she should do with her life – her career – and planning it … always fucking wanting to plan everything . When she wasn't ready to have a man tell her those kinds of things. Because it was her life – not his.

And she'd so struggled to rectify the concept of their shared life. In marriage. In if they started a family. Because there were things he didn't want to talk about with her and secrets he kept and half-lies he told. And opinions he didn't really want to hear either.

It was about all the lies. The ones that were real and the ones that weren't. The ones that Hank had told her and the ones that Bunny had her buy into believing were true. It was the things she wanted to believe and the realities she didn't. It was just running away from her past. From the giant mess that was her life. All the bad news.

Only doing that seemed to have brought more bad news. It'd taken leaving to realize that. The job. The assignment. The city. Separating from the people who'd really been her family. Her relationship. Her friends. To live in some fucking illusion. To create a story for herself – made up details – so she fit into some other people's fucked up versions of reality. Only their fucked up versions of reality were charging on a collision course to really fuck up reality. And a lot of people's reality. And that just made all of this a bigger mess to navigate out of.

It was where her loyalties lay. And what her priorities were. Who was important to her. What was important. What she was meant to do with her life. What she even wanted her life to look like. And it all felt so complicated. Because in the past six weeks she'd seen both sides. She knew what it felt like to have your career striped away from you. But she also knew what it felt like to lose her family. To be teetering on the edge with a man she loved in a different way than she'd loved anyone before. In a different way than she could say with certainty that she'd ever love anyone else ever again.

And that wasn't even getting into the Ethan aspect of all this. This added layer and urgency. This unknown. That she had some experience with. Because she knew what it felt like to lose Camille. She knew what it felt like to lose Nadia. She knew what it felt like to lose Justin. She knew what it felt like to lose Jules.

But this was different again. Because this was a little person she'd known since Day One. A boy she had helped raise. Another person on a list of loves that she wasn't sure she'd ever love in quite the same way again. A way that she suspected she might only ever come close to experiencing if she did end up having a child of her own. And, again, in some fucked up way all of this felt like some sort of referendum on that decision too. That she was sitting in a place where this was going to affect that future. That option in her future.

It was all too fucking complicated.

She didn't understand how to go back and live with the uncertainty about Ethan. She didn't know how he was going to navigate the coming months. What his education what going to look like. What his health was going to look like. What kind of life he was going to be able to have. How much life – and quality of life – he had in front of him. She didn't know how Hank managed that. One his own.

And there was another part of her that was terrified to come back and watch Ethan's decline. That she just kept hearing "progression" and "progressive" ringing in her ears. And no matter what clauses they placed around that – the numerous and uncertainty timelines that could be years or decades – she still couldn't get the end game out of her mind. And she didn't know how to do that. How to be there for that. How to leave Hank to watch that. To go through that. Alone. How to leave her baby brother then. Now.

So she couldn't wrap her head around why they wanted her – needed – her to make this call. How they could argue in any way that her staying in New York City in a new job, in a new gig, on a new undefined assignment made any sort of sense in their reality right now. In her getting any closer to making things right.

But she'd made the call. She'd done the small talk. She'd asked the questions. And questions that Benson couldn't answer and/or deflected. Until ultimately Erin had ended up with Brian Cassidy's number and had been told Sunday afternoons were generally a good time to call him, if she was looking to speak to him outside of office hours. And Erin wasn't sure she was. She wasn't sure what she wanted out of this. Beyond being able to say she dailed the number. To offer that up as some sort of appease in all of this.

So now she just kept staring at her phone. Listening to the music in her ears. Trying to get her mind to slow some. Trying to process and not. To think and not. And she'd done that until she heard movement behind her. Coming down the stairs. And she'd turned, pulling the ear buds out of her ears, but immediately wished she hadn't. And she could tell from the look on Hailey Upton's face that she wished she hadn't too.

"I didn't know anyone was still down here," Upton just barely stumbled over.

Erin eyed her. There was part of her that wanted to put in some sort of commentary about the walls being thin. Or pointing out how she'd put her earbuds in for a reason. Not just to try to distract and drown out her own thoughts – but to avoid hearing what was going on on the floor above her. To level her disgust that even if that was technically their spare room – and even if this wasn't technically 'her house' right now in some ways – that she still saw that space as Ethan's room. And with everything going on she wasn't exactly thrilled that Jay's brother and the woman that Erin had to partner with before she left – that Jay was partnered with now – were occupying that space.

"Sorry to upset your stealthy escape," was all she put back to her.

Hailey gave her a lopsided, unimpressed smile. Patronizing. Insincere sincerity. "Well, sorry to make it awkward for you," Upton said.

Erin shrugged. "Why should it be awkward? You clearly spending more time in my house than me."

That thin smile again. "How's New York?" she tried. "I mean, New York City. That must be great, right? And the FBI? Counter-terrorism? I keep trying to tell Jay that my undercover really … helped me. Career-wise. Trajectory."

"Mmm …," Erin allowed and shifted her gaze back to the phone.

Because she really didn't feel like talking to Upton. She really didn't know what to say to her. Not without being obnoxious. And, normally, maybe she wouldn't really care. But right now things were messy enough. She didn't need to burn more bridges with more people. Not if she was going to come back to Chicago. If she got back. If she could get Hank and Jay to see that made more sense. Not New York.

"You should be careful with Will," she muttered flatly instead and gave her a glance. Her look at grown more unimpressed. But, again, Erin didn't really care. So maybe she was ready to be obnoxious. Only she wasn't. She was giving Upton fair warning. "Him and … relationships."

But that time it was Upton who shrugged. "It's not a relationship," she said. "We're just both blowing off some steam. You know …"

And Erin grunted again. Sounded too much like Hank again. And looked back to the phone.

"How's your brother doing?" Hailey tried. Her voice slightly softer. Soft enough that Erin gave her another look. "I keep feeling like I should go over to Med. But I don't get the sense Serg would really appreciate that."

"He wouldn't," Erin allowed – flatly and firmly.

"Yea …," Upton nodded and gazed at the counter for a long beat. "It just seems like people have gone over. Olinsky. Kim … Burgess. Sergeant Platt. Jay. And I know … what it's like to have family in the hospital."

Erin just made another noise and looked back to the phone.

"Is he doing better?" Upton pressed again.

Erin looked at her. "Can't you get your updates from Jay?"

Hailey stared at her. "I'm not trying to throw sand in the gears, Erin. I know things must be—"

"Complicated," Erin filled in for her. "Yeah, they are. And you and Will … burning off steam … together, here, in my house – doesn't help."

"Jay seems okay with it," Upton provided.

"Mmm …," Erin grunted again. "Right. See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil. You're missing at least one of those clauses. Trust me. And trust me – Jay doesn't like it. Passive aggressive behavior. That's him. That's your cue."

"I just got the sense he's not much of a talker," Hailey provided and then sighed. "Look, my offer still stands. If there's something I can take off your plate – including bowing down here or rotating out of the bullpen … you can tell me."

"You don't have to do that," Erin said. Even though part of her wanted to tell her to. To open a space back up. But she also knew that didn't solve the underlying problem. The underlying mess she'd gotten herself into.

"I just … I get you must have a lot on your plate right now," Hailey offered. "Jay too."

"Yea …," Erin acknowledged and gazed at the other woman. The other cop. The one who'd taken her place in too many ways. In the bullpen. With her partner. At her home.

But they were all vacancies she'd created on her own. Ones she'd left there waiting to be filled. So she couldn't really blame her. Upton was clearly on a career trajectory. She had a plan. She had goals. Maybe Erin had never really had that. Not until too late. Not anything defined enough. Not forward looking enough. Maybe it'd all been about looking backwards. And that had been part of the problem. When you're always looking over your shoulder eventually someone or something is going to come right up in front of you and punch you in the guts. Or worse. And it had. She'd been too distracted. Not enough foresight. And now her hindsight was feeling fucking 20/20 in a frustrating disheartening way. The self-blame and guilt just kept building. And she was fighting to calm it. To still it. To just shut it up and start looking forward and moving forward again.

"How's he doing?" Erin asked carefully.

"Jay?" Upton asked.

"Jay," she confirmed.

Upton fidgeted a little uncomfortably at that. It looked like she was finally ready to beeline for the door. To get out of there. Make the escape rather than the small talk that wasn't so small.

"Ah, you know …"

"I don't," Erin said. "Actually."

And Upton gazed at her again. This quiet contemplation. This measure of what to do or say.

"He's got a lot on the go right now," she finally said so flatly.

"Acting supervisor. Command," Erin provided. "That's … how's he doing with that?"

Upton gave her a thin smile and a little shrug. "Rangers lead," she said but added, "I think he wishes he could court martial a few of us."

Erin allowed her own little smile. She sort of wanted to talk about it more. To hear more. Because Jay would only tell her so much. And that would be so little. But she also just … didn't want to talk. Just like she didn't want to take away Jay's opportunity to grow and excel in CPD. To lead. To be the leader he was. The work horse he was. The good police he was. The kind of cop the city needed in the day and age. A day and age she'd become so starkly and shockingly familiar with in a way that you couldn't just understand with boots on the ground in your own city and reading the national news. So she didn't want to talk to Upton anymore. Or anyone anymore. To stare at the phone. To wait for calls. Or to contemplate making calls.

So she straightened and treaded past Hailey. "Guess I'll see you when I see you …" she said.

"Erin," Hailey called at her and Erin glanced over her shoulder as she mounted the first step. "I didn't tell the board anything. It was like they'd already made their decision. They hardly asked me a thing."

Erin shrugged. "I know," she allowed. "I'm … we're … figuring it out."

And she went up the stairs. She left Upton there to make her not-so-discrete escape. And she passed Ethan's bedroom that was being occupied by Will with its door left open a crack and him snoring softly inside in a way he really should get checked. And she'd gone back up to there bedroom where Jay was still awake. Because she didn't think he was doing a lot of sleeping these days either.

Erin crawled into bed next to him. Laying on her side and gazing at him through the dark. He stared right back at her until she reached and stroked her hand down his cheek.

"You should try to sleep," she told him.

He just made a dismissive sound. "Did you call?" he asked. "I could hear you talking."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Over your brother and Upton?" He made a scrunched up face that depicted his own mild disgust. She allowed that a little smile. A more real one. "I called Benson."

"What'd she say?" Jay asked.

"Not much," she said. "She gave me Cassidy's number. He wasn't around. She said tomorrow afternoon would be an okay time to reach him."

He allowed a quiet sound of acknowledgement. He didn't jump on her to call now. To ask her – demand of her – to take the gig that she didn't want to take. To argue with her more about it. He just left it. She'd made her concession. And now it was time to make his. Again. It was her turn to put down a clause.

"Jay …," she tried. She tried to find the right words. "You aren't the only one who doesn't know about relationships. Or … communication in them."

"I know …," he acknowledged.

She gave him a slight push against his shoulder. He grinned at the move a little. Enough that it pulled just slightly at her lips too. But she felt it fade. She felt herself get more serious. To search for words again.

"Me … being in New York … right now … that's really your ideal situation," put to him.

"I didn't say ideal."

She sighed and gazed at him. At what he was and what he wasn't. What they could be and what they weren't and what they never would be now. Because now was different than before. But it could be more than it was.

"We need to go to therapy, Jay," she put flatly. Something she cringed saying – admitting. But something she knew to be true. Something she knew … just knew … it might be where the real lifeline was to pull her … them … out of any of this. "Whatever I end up doing. Where I'm going to be. For us to salvage this … we need help … to learn how to … deal with our walls … and our holes."

She could feel him tense. She could feel his quiet. But then finally she heard him – steady: "Okay," he allowed. "If that's what you want."

And that was something she hadn't heard him say … in a while. Was that something she'd heard him say ever? And even if she had … it somehow felt like an opportunity. An opening. A new start. A clause. A concession. That she could work with. Because … she'd been heard. Now.

 **AUTHOR NOTE: Your feedback, comments and reviews are appreciated. Thanks to the one reviewer of the previous chapter. It's people like you who take the time to do that that really help make the writing feel worthwhile and provide some motivation to finish and post.**

 **I might do a O/S set 6-12 months in the future to give some closure to this AU/series.**


End file.
